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THE -COMPLETE 

, POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


WILLIAM  COWPER,  ESQ., 


THE  HYMNS  AND  TRANSLATIONS  FEOM  MADAME 
GUION,  MILTON,  ETC. 


A   MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR, 

BY  THE 

REV.  H.  STEBBING,  A.M. 

^       lESITT] 

fUlSj^^EW    YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  90,  92  &  94  GRAND  ST. 
1869. 


■  i  "^  •    t    r  < 


C^Tf^ 


•^x?-^:^ 


Of  THB 


[MIVBRSITY] 


COIs  TENTS. 


'  PAGK 

Memoir  op  "William  Cowpeu  ...  11 

Table  Talk 25 

The  Progress  op  Error 44 

Truth 60 

Expostulation 75 

Hope 93 

Charity 112 


CoNVEKSATioj^f 128  ' ^  Human  frailty 


',    IV.  The  Winter  Evening.  2: 
XY.  Ti»e  Winter  Mornin; 


^ 


r  ,  ^YI.  The  Winter  Walk  at 

'•  '  Noon 273 

Tirocinium  ;   or,  a  Keview  of 

Schools.. 298 

Minor  Poems : 
An  Epistle  to  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.  821 
To  the  Kev.William  Cawthorne 

Unwin 822 

Thp.  rliv^^tini!^  historjr  of  John 


page 
^     little  note  recorded  in  the  Bi- 

t-' .  ographia  Britannica 335 

On  the  i)romotion  of  Edward 
Thurlow,  Esq.,  to  "tlie  Lord 
Hii^h  Chancellorship  of  Eng- 
land  83.'^ 

Ode  to  peace 336 


5.  The  modern  patriot 838 

*  Report  of  an  adjudged  case  not 

found  in  any  of  the  books  338 
the  burning  of  Lord  Mans- 
field's library,  together  with 

his  MSS.,  by  the  mob 339 

On  the  same 340 


— «^  %  Keport 
e^-.  to  he 
190  ^  On  the 


Walk 251  \  The  love  of  the  world  reproved 


(Jn  ft  froldhiich,  SliirveU  to  c! 


he-<loves  . .".~.  ."".:.■,":; 77.7;  .7  .  §8l3 

A  fable....! 882 

A  comparison 833 

Another.  Addressed  to  a  young 

lad^' 333 

Yerses  supposed  to  be  written 
by  Alexander  Selkirk,  during 
his  solitary  abode  in  the  Isl- 
and of  Juan  Fernandez 333" 

On  observing  some  names  of 


"Tfeai 

in  his  cage 342 

The  pine-apple  and  the  bee. . .  343 
The  shrubbery.     Written  in  a 

time  of  affliction 344 

The  winter  nosegay 345 

Mutual  forbearance  necessary 
y-  to  the  liappiness  of  the  mar- 

jr...  ried  state 845 

To  the  Rev.  Mr.  Newton.    An 
invitation  into  the  country. .  847 

Boadicea.    An  ode 84r 

Heroism 341 

.  Tlie  poet,  the  oyster,  and  sensi- 
tive plant 851 

The  yearly  distress,  or  tithing 

tini(^at  Stock  in  Essex 358 

Sonnet,    addripied    to    Henry 
Cowper,  Esq 855 


k 


THE  OLNEY  HYMNS. 


1  Walking  M-ith  God 350f   9  The  contrite  heart 3G2 


2  Jehovah-^ireh 357 

8  Jehovahfrophi 857 

4  Jehovahinissi 858 

5  Jehovahf;halom 859 

6  Wisdom! 860 

7  Vanity  of  the  world 860 

8  0  Lord,  I  will  oraiso  thee. ...  861 


10  Tlie  future  peace  and  glory  of 

the  Church 363 

11  Jehovah  our  rigliteousnoss. ..  86"3 

1 2  Eph^l^im  repenting 864 

13  The  covenant ,  . .  865 

14  Jehovah-siiammah 8<;5        . 

15  Praise  for  the  Fountain  opened  866«^p/^ 


CONTENTS. 


PAGTC 

16  The  Sower 367 

17  The  liouse  of  prayer 368 

18  Lovest  thou  me  ? 368 

19  Contentment 369 

20  Old  Testament  Gospel 370 

21  Sardis 371 

22  Prayer  for  a  blessing  on  the 

young ■ 372 

23  Pleading  for  and  with  youth  .  872 

24  Prayer  for  children 373 

25  Jehovah-Jesus 374 

26  On  opening  a  place  for  social 

prayer 874 

27  Welcome  to  the  table 375 

^  28  Jesus  hasting  to  sulfer 376 

29  Exhortation  to  prayer 377 

^  Light  and  glory  of  the  Word-.  377 

31  On  the  death  ofaininister...  378 

32  The  shining  Liirht -x  •  378 

83  Seeking  the  Beloved >.  379 

34  The  waiting  soul 380 

35  Welcome  cross 381 

o6  Afflictions    sanctified   by  the 

Word 881 

37  Temptation 382 

38  Looking  upwards  in  a  storm .  383 
89  Valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  3S3 

^0  Peace  after  a  storm 384 

41  Mourning  and  longing 385 

42  Self-acquaintance ^.... 886 


PAGK 

43  Prayei-  for  patience 386 

44  Submission 387 

45  The  happy  change \^. ..  388 

46  Retirement ^ . .  389 

47  The  hidden  life 869 

48  Joy  and  peace  in  believing  . ,  390 

49  True  pleasures 891 

50  The  Christian 392 

51  Lively  hope  and  gracious  fear  392 

52  For  the  poor 893 

53  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God ....  394 

54  Love    constraining    to    obe- 

dience   , 394 

55  The  heart  healed  and  changed 

bv  mercy \ 395 

56  Hatred  of  sin  .   .V,^ 396 

57  The  new  convert 397 

58  True  and  false  comforts 897 

59  A  living  and  a  dead  faith  ....  398 

60  Abuse  of  the  Gospel 399 

61  The  narrow  Avay 399 

62  Dependence 400 . 

63  Not  of  works *4ni 

64  Praise  for  faith ,401 

65  Grace  and  Providence 402 

66  I  will  praise  the  Lord  at  al^ 

times 403 

67  Longing  to  be  with  Christ  . .  ■,  403 

68  Light  shining  out  of  darkness  404  ■ 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


Lines  addressed  to  Dr.  Darwin . .  406 
On  Mrs.  Montagu's  feather-hang- 

e^L-      ings r 40'J« 

"^^*^^n  ^''^  dfn*^'  "f  I^*^''"!.  I'^ivockmor-  jj>^ 
^■'Ttorrs  ImMSch.^"        . .-: . . .'. . .  ^ 

TiTeTTosoTrTT ;.  410 

Ode  to  Apollo.     On  an  inkglass  .  411 
The  Poet's  New  Years  Gift.    To 

Mrs.  Throckmorton 411 

Pairing  time  anticipated.  A  fable 
le  dog  and  water-lily.  No  fabl 

■y  .^^.^iLjrT^JiTfg  iiiimiiimiir ■^. 

•^Z  Pity  Ibr  pooPT?uricaffsH 

The  morning  dream 418 

Epistle  to  an    afflicted  lady  in 

France 419 

Catharina:  Part  First 421 

y^     Catharina :  Part  Second 422 

^  M   The  moralizer  corrected.    A  tale  423 

•^  The  faithful  bird  .  m/\JV^\ 425 

^iH^^Tlie  needless  alarm.     A  tf^ 420 

♦"^^jOn  the  receipt- of  my  mother's  _-«^ 

,    Fi-Tentftmi) 432 

On  a  mischievous  bull 438 


j  Annus  memorabilis,  1789 438 

'Verses  on  finding  the  heel  oT  a 

^sho^ 440  *■ 

Uymn  for  Sunday-school  at  01- 

I      ney ....'. 441 

Stanzas  subjoined  to  the  yearly 
bill  of  mortality  of  tlJe  parish  of 

All-Saints  in  the  year  1787 442 

For  the  year  1788 444 

For  the  year  17S9 445 

-     For  the  vear  179© 446 

,      For  the  year  179^ 447 

For  the  year  1793 448 

Ode    on    reading    Kichardsori's     « 
"  History  of  Sir'Charles  Grand- 

ison" .' 450 

Epistle  to  liobert  tiloyd,  Esq. . , .  451 

A  tale,  founded  on  ii  fact 453 

To  the  liev.  Mr.  Ne-svton  on  his 

return  from  Eamsgate ^ 

Xove  abused 7 

Poetical  epistle  to  Lady  Austeo. 

•  The  Colubriad , . 

Song.    On  Peace 

Song 


454 

4o5 

455 

459«« 

459 

460 


coNTj:Nrs. 


PAGK 

Verses  selected  from  an  occasion- 
al poem  entitled  "  Valediction*'  461 

!» '  Rpitaph  ftji  Dr.  Johnson . . . , 463 

'Vq  Miss  C ,  on  her  birthday. .  462 

«iratitude.     Addressed  to  Lady 

Hesketh 462 

Lines  for  a  memorial  of  Ashley       \ 

Cowper,  Esq 464^ 

On  the  Queen's  visit  to  London .  464 

The  cock-fighter's  garland 467 

n/To  Warren  Hastins-s,  Esq 469" 

To  Mrs.  Throckmorton ,469 

To  the  immortal  raenlory  of  the 

V  'halibut  on  which  I  dined '470-(- 

I ascription  for  a  sto'ne  erected  at 
the  sowing  of  a  grove  of  oaks, 

1790, 471 

Another  inscriptVotv  for  a  stone 

erected  in  the  following  year..  471 
To  Mrs.  King,  on  her  kind  pres- 
ent lo  the  author 472 

In    memory    of  the   late    John 

-       Thornton,  Esq 473 

I  Tlie  four  ages 474 

I  The  retired  cat 475 

f^hc  judgment  of  the  poets 4JS 

B^ffiiigjJii^ (H^ 

•'lo  iii'e  mgfftingale ^S^ 

Lines  written  on  an  album  of  Miss 

Patty  More's 4S4 

Sonnet  to  William  Wilberforce, 

Esq 4S4 

Epigram  printed  in  the  "North- 
ampton Mercury ■' 4S4 

To  Dr  Austin 4S5 


PAGE 

To  the  Spanish  Admiral,  Count 

Gravina 491 

462«i^ Inscription  for  the  ttunb  of  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

Ei2 

nest.     A  tale 


J^  Epitaph  on  Fop 4S5"  "On  a  plant  of  Virgin's  Bower bl 

Mary  and  John 4S6    On  receiving  Heyne's  Virgil  from 

^  '^  '^  ""nr   Mr.  Hay  ley ^. 514 

Lines  on  a  sleeping  infant 514 

Lines  addressed  to  Miss  Theodo- 
ra Jane  Cowper 514 

To  the  same 515 

/To  Mrs.  Unwiii 48?H^ines 510 

To  John  Job n^n,  Esq -48^    Inscription  for  a  moss-housQ  in 

To  a  young  friend,  on  arriving  at  '       .      .^ 

Cambridge  wet 488 

^To  a  spaniel,  called  Beau,  on  kill-  •* 
ing  a  young  bird 4S9 


Sonnet  to  George  Itomney,  Esq..  48< 

Epitaph  on  Mr.''Chester ....  4S6 

To  my  cousin,  Anne  Bodham.. .  487 
Inscription  for  a  hermitage  in  the 
author's  garden 487 


lo  bu-  JosliiHTltevi 


lo  bu-  Jos'liflfflteynolds  . 

On   the  author  of  "Letters  on 

•    Literature" 500 

The  distressed  travellers j.. 500 

Stanzas  dn  the  late  inde.cenX  lib- 
erties /taken  with  the  rem.ains 

of  Miljon 503 

To  the  4ev.  William  Bull 503 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  M.  Iliggins 595 

Sonnet  to  a  young  lady  on  her 

birthday ." 50G 

On  a  mistake  in  his  translation  of 

Homer 506 

On  the  benefit  received  by  his 

majesty  from  sea-bathing 506 

Addressed  to  Miss ,  on  read- 

in'g  the  "  Prayer  for  Inditfer- 

ence'' 507 

roin  a  letter  to  the  liev.  Mr. 

Newton 510 

'he  fiatting-mill.    An  illustration  511 
Epitaph  on  a  free  but  tame  red- 
breast   511 

Sonnet  addressQ(|a,  to  Wm.  Hay- 
ley,  Esq :;;. 512 

An  epitaph 513 

On  receiving  Hay  ley's  picture. . .  513 


the  shrubbery  at  Weston. 5iQ 

Lines  on  the  death  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Eussel 517 

To  Mrs.  Newton 517 


^Beau's  reply 4S9"*Verses  printed  by  himself,  on  a 


To  William  Hay  ley, 'Esq 490 

Answer  to  stanzas  addressed  to 

Lady  Ilesketh 491 

On  Elaxman's  Penelope  ........  491 


flood  at  Olney 518 

On  the  receipt  of  a  hamper 519 

On  the  neglect  of  Homer 519 

On  the  high  price  of  fish 519 


CONTENTS. 


LATIN  POEMS  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 


k. 


—  PAGE 

^^lontos  Glaciales,  in  (Tceano  Ger- 

"^  ^.  ..  manico  Natantes 521 

On  the  ice  islands  seen  floating  in 

the  (German  Ocean !• 522 

Monnniental  Inscription  to  Wil 

liani  Northeot 52 

Translation 524^ 

In  seditioneiii  horrendam  Londi-        ^ 

ni  nuper  exortam 524 

Translation 525 

blotto  on  a  clock 525 

A  simile  Latinized 525 

Verses  to  the   memory  of  Dr. 

Lloyd 525 

Englisli  version 52G 

Populetuni 527 


PAGE 

The  poplar  field 527' 

Lilium  atque  rosa 52S 

The  lily  and  the  rose. , 529 

In    submersionem    navigii,    cui 
Georgius  Itegale  nomen  indi- 

tum 

,0n  the  loss  of  tlie  lloyal  Geor^^e/53ll 


-VX)tuih  . 

Epitaphium 532% 

Simile  in  Taradise  Lost 533 

Dryden's  Epigram  on  Milton 533 

Translation  of  Prior's  Chloe  and 

Euplielia 533 

Translations  from  the  Fables  of 

Gay 534 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  MADAME  DE 
LA  MOTHE  GUION. 


The  Nativity 537 

God  neither  known  nor  loved  by 

the  world 541 

The  swallow 543 

The  triumph  of  heavenly  love 

desired  v 543 

A  figurative  description   of  the 

procedure  of  Divine  love 544 

A  child  of  God  longing  to  see  him 

beloved 546 

Asi)irations  of  the  soul  after  God  547 

Gratitude  and  love  to  God 54S 

Happy  solitude— unhappy  men  .  549 

Living  water 550 

Truth  and  divine  love  rejected  by 

the  world 550 

Divine  justice  amiable 551 

The  soul 'that   loves  God  finds 

him  everywhere 552 

The  testim'ony  of  Divine  adop- 
tion    553 

Divine  love  endures  no  rival 554 

Self-diffidence 555 

The  acquiescence  of  pure  love  . .  550 


Repose  in  God ^ 556 

Giory  to  God  alone 557 

Self-love  and  truth  incompatible  558 
The  love  of  God  the  end  of  life. .  559 
Love  faithful  in  the  absence  of    . 

the  beloved 559 

Love  pure  and  fervent 560 

The  entire  surrender 560 

The  perfect  sacrifice 561 

God  hides  his  people 561 

Xhe  secrets  of  Divine  love  are  to 

~be  kept 562 

The  vicissitudes  experienced  in 

the  Christian  life 566 

Watching  unto  God  in  the  night 

season , 570 

On  the  same 571 

On  the  same 572 

The  joy  of  the  Cross 574 

Joy  in  martyrdom 576 

Simple  trust 576 

The  necessity  of  self-abasement.  577 

Love  increased  by  sutt'ering 578 

Scenes  favorable  to  meditation . .  580 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  VINCENT  BOURNE. 


The  glow-worm 5S2 

The  jackdaw 583 

The  cricket 584 

The  parrot  585 

The  Tlraciai! 586 


Reciprocal  kindness  the  primary 
law  of  nature 586 

A  manual  more  ancient  than  the 
art  of  printing ^ 5S7 

An  enigma 5S9 


^^^T^fU^  Contents. 


y  PAGE 

Sparrows     self-domesticated    in 
Trinity  College,  Cauibridgo.. .  590 

Familiarity  dangerous 590 

Invitation  to  the  redbreast 591 

iStrada's  nightingale 592 

Ode  on  the  death  of  a  lady  who 
lived  a  hundred  years 592 

The  cause  won 594 


PAGR 

The  silk- worm 594 

The  innocent  thief 595 

Denncr's  old  woman 596 

Tiie  tears  of  a  painter 596 

The  maze  , 597 

No  sorrow  peculiar  to  the  suHerer  598 

Tlie  snail 59S 

The  Cantab 599 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  THE  LATIN  AND  ITALIAN  POEMS 
OF  MILTON. 


Elciry  I.  To  Charles  Deodati. . . .  600 
^  II.  On  the  death  of  tlie  Uni- 
versity Beadle  at  Cam- 
bridge   602 

III.  On   the   death    of    the 

Bishop  of  Winchester.  603 

IV.  To  his    tutor,  Thomas 

Young 605 

V,  On     the    approach    of 

Spring 60S 

VI.  To  Charles  Deodati ....  612 

VII 614 

The  cottager  and  his  landlord  ...  617 
Epigrams : 

On  the  inventor  of  guns 617 

To  Leonora  singing  at  Kome. .  617 

To  the  same 618 

To  Christina,  Queen  of  Sweden  61S 


On  the  death  of  the  vice-chan- 
cellor   618 

On  the  death  of  the  Bishop  of  Ely  620 

Nature  unimpaired  by  time 622 

On  the  Platonic  idea  as  it  was  un- 
derstood by  Aristotle 624 

To  his  father 625 

To  Salsillus,  a  Roman  poet 628 

To  Giovanni  Battista  Manso  ..   .  630 

On  the  death  of  Damon 6:^3 

Ode,  addressed  to  Mr.  John  Rousei  640 
Translations  of  the  Italian  Poets :  \ 

Sonnet. 643 

Sonnet 643 

Canzone 644 

Sonnet,  to  Cliarles  Deodati 644 

Sonnet 645 

Sonnet 645 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  VIRGIL,  OVID,  HORACE, 
HOMER,  &c. 


The  Salad,  by  Vircil 646 

Virgil,  ^neid,  Book  viii.,  line  18  650 
Ovid,  Trist  Book  v.  Eleg.  xii. . . .  660 

Horace,  Book  i.  Ode  ix 661 

Book  i.  Ode  xxxviii , 602 

Book  i.  Ode  xxxviii 662 

Book  ii.  Ode  X 663 

A  reflection  on  the  above  ode. .  '^'^^ 

Book  ii.  Ode  xvi 604 

Fifth  satire  of  first  book 605 

Ninth  satire  of  first  book 670 

Epigram  from  Homer 674 

Translations  of  Greek  verses : 
From  the  Greek  of  Julianus  ..,^75 
On  the  same,  by  Palladas.  ^.'f  675 

An  epitaph jf...  676 

Another, M....  676 

Another \. 676 

Another , 676 

By  Calliniachus 677 


Greek  verses  (contiJiued) : 

On  Miltiades 077 

On  an  infant 677 

By  Ileraclides 677 

On  the  reed 677 

To  health 678 

On  invalids 67S 

On  the  astrologers 678 

On  an  old  woman 679 

On  flatterers 679 

On  a  true  friend -^iip- 

On  the  swallow ....'.'.  6T9 

On  late  acquired  jjieatth CSU 

On  a  bath,  by  PTato .-.  6S« 

On  a  fowler,  by  Isidorus 6S0 

On  a  good  man 6^0 

On  a  miser 6S0 

Another 6^1 

Another 6Sl 

From  Menander 6^1 


10 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Greek  verses  {continued) : 

OnNiobe 6S2 

On  female  inconstancy 6S2 

On  the  grasshoi)per 6S2 

On  Pallas  bathing 683 

To  Demosthenes 6S3 

On  a  similar  character 683 

On  an  iialy  fellow 6S4 

On  a  thief 6S4 

On  envy 684 

On  a  battered  beauty 684 

By  Moschus 685 


PAGE 

Greek  verses  {continued) : 

By  Philemon .685 

On  pedigree.    From  Epichar- 

mus 685 

On  Hermocratia 686 

Epigrams    from    the    Latin    of 
Owen : 
On  one  ignorant  and  arrogant .  6S6 

Prudent  simplicity 686 

Snnset  and  sunrise 687 

To  a  friend  in  distress 687 

KetaliatioD 6S7 


MEMOIR  OF  WILLIAM  COWPER. 


The  misfortunes  of  high -minded,  but  suffering  genius,  have 
strongest  of  all  claims  upon  our  sympathies.  Men  of  fine  intel 
are  more  exposed  than  any  other  class  to  the  attacivs  of  advers 
because  they  are  less  ready  at  providnig  the  means  of  defei 
They  have  a  trust,  a  strong  and  powerful  trust,  in  their  own  pc 
liar  sources  of  happiness.  X]X<l,.,l>Pal't,c^C''^ti<^"s  of  their  imagi 
tion  keep  them  in  a  gay  and  summer  Eden  of  delight,  and  t, 
rcKt  contented  in  the  luxury  of  their  thoughts,  till  the  coldnesi^ 
tlic  world  in  which  tliey  are  rouses  them  to  a  sense  of  lonelir 
or  dependence.  That  which  other  men  are  only  in  their  yoi 
men  of  genius  are  to  their  latest  days,  living  on  hopes  which 
not  to  l)e  fullilled,  and  dreaming  on  thnigs  which  do  not  ex 
But  it  is  to  tlie  spirit  that  thus  wanders,  and  mistakes  the  assura 
of  its  owji  thoughts  for  the  substance  of  existence,  that  the  w( 
owes  its  best  means  of  felicity,  aitd  humanity  its  noblest  devel 
ment.  Conquerors  and  princes,  when  they  sailer,  sutler  onb 
men,  but  the  sensitive  and  nnaginativc  author  feels  the  stmg: 
misfortune  like  the  being  of  another  world,  like  one  who  ■ 
destined  to  be  a  teacher  upon  earth,  hut  has  found  iiis  calling  u 
lected  and  despised — a  spirit  too  noble  to  change  its  nature,  but 
weak  not  to  feel  the  bitterness  of  its  fate.  The  adversities  to  wl: 
men  of  talent  are  exposed,  are  always  thus  afflicting,  and  in  n 
cases  destructive  of  their  very  being ;  but  there  is  a  species  of 
to  which  more  than  one  child  of  genius  has  been  subjected,  t 
throws  a  still  darker  cloud  upon  their  path,  and  invests  them  m 
a  gloom  which  makes  all  other  afflictions  seem  ligiit  and  tolera 
To  have  the  mind  itself  made  prisoner — the  faculties  that  deli 
in  their  free  and  unhesitating  course  bound  up  in  a  dark  and  he; 
melancholy— and  the  thoughts  converted  into  iiideous  shapes 


12  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

moment  they  rise  in  the  soul, — this  is  to  suffer  indeed — to  pay  a 
price  for  genius  which  would  be  far  too  high  for  any  other  pos- 
session. 

The  life  of  Cowper  is  a  melancholy  chapter  in  the  history  of  the 
human  mind.  But  it  is  fraught  with  interest  of  a  peculiar  kind, 
and  when  rightly  considered,  gives  rise  to  a  train  of  reflections 
which,  painful  as  they  may  be,  leave  an  impression  on  the  mind 
partaking  more  of  the  nature  of  tranquillized  sorrow  than  of  de- 
spondency. 

This  great  and  afflicted  poet  was  born  at  Berkhampstead,  No- 
vember 26,  1731.     His  fiither  was  rector  of  that  place,  and  Chap- 
lain to  his  Majesty  George  the  Second.    The  family  of  the  Cowpers 
was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  kingdom,  and  numbered  among  its 
members  several  men  distinguished  for  their  virtues  and  their 
talents.     The  great  uncle  and  grandfather  of  the  poet  had  been 
both  raised  to  the  peerage  for  their  distinguished  legal  abilities ; 
and  the  latter,  who  died  in  the  year  1728,  united  in  himself  the 
offices  of  Chief-Justice  of  Chester,  and  of  a  judge  in  the  Court  oi 
Common  Pleas.     The  subject  of  our  memoir  was  from  his  earliest 
youth  a  prey  to  ill-health,  and  gave  signs,  it  is  said,  in  infancy  oJ 
that  nervous  sensibility  which,  as  his  years  increased,  gradually 
assumed  the  character  of  a  morbid  melancholy.     This  natural  ten- 
dency of  his  constitution  was   considerably  strengthened  by  its 
being  unfortunately  deemed  necessary  to  send  him,  at  a  very  earl} 
age,  to  a  distance  from  home.     Delicate  as  he  was,  both  in  mine 
and  person,  neither  a  school  nor  a  boarding-house  was  likely  t( 
improve  his  health,  or  give  greater  elasticity  to  his  spirits.     He  hat 
nota  sufficient  stock  of  either,  to  meet  the  quick  demand  that  is 
made  for  them  amid  a  set  of  joyous  and  robust  boys,  and  hii 
little  depressed  heart  shrunk  back,  in  mere  self-defence,  agains 
his  unsympathizing  companions.     "  I  have  been,"  said  he,  m  afte 
years  still  remembering  the  miseries  of  his  youth,  "all  my  life  sub 
ject  to  inflammations  of  the  eye,  and  in  my  boyish  days  had  speck 
on  both,  that  threatened  to  cover  them.     My  father,  alarmed  fo 
the  consequences,  sent  me  to  a  female  oculist  of  great  renown  f 
that  time,  in  whose  house  I  abode  two  years,  but  to  no  good  pui 
pose.    From  her  I  went  to  Westminster  school,  where,  at  the  ag 
of  fourteen,  the  small-pox  seized  me,  and  proved  the  better  oculif 
of  the  two,  for  it  delivered  me  from  them  all ;"  but  it  did  n( 
render  him  better  qualified  to  bear  with  a  good  grace  the  bitt( 
annoyances  to  which  he  was  subject,  and  we  find  him  declarin 
that  his  timidity  made  him  a  constant  object  of  persecution  to  h 
unfeeling  school-fellows. 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  13 

Cowpcr  remained  at  Westminster  till  he  was  eighteen,  and  not- 
withstandnig  the  unfitness  of  his  character  for  a  public  school,  left 
it  with  the  reputation  of  an  excellent  and  accomplished  classic. 
But  the  whole  of  his  early  life  appears  to  have  been  misdirected, 
not,  as  Mr.  Ilayley  says,  by  a  perverse  destiny,  but  by  a  most  cul- 
pably erroneous  judgment  in  those  who  liad  the  superintendence 
of  his  education.  It  must  have  been  evident  to  the  most  incon- 
siderate observer,  that  the  only  chance  he  had  of  gaining  strength, 
or  of  possessing  a  sufferable  existence,  was  liis  being  allowed  to 
pass  his  life  in  tranquillity  and  retirement.  But,  in  defiance  of 
every  warning,  which  all  the  eighteen  years  of  his  life  had  given, 
he  was  devoted  to  the  study  of  the  law,  and  niatle  to  place  his 
hopes  of  fortune  on  the  exercise  of  a  profession  which  must  every 
hour  do. violence  to  his  character.  Notwithstanding  l\is  unfitness 
for  the  pursuit,  lie  wijs  immediately  on  leaving  Westminster  arti- 
cled to  Mr.  Chapman,  a  solicitor,  in  whose  Jiouse  lie  resided  for 
three  years,  gaining  the  love  of  every  one  around  him  by  the  gen- 
tleness of  his  manners,  and  amiable  temper,  but  still  suffering 
deeply  from  that  incipient  melancholy  which Was  secretly  ruining 
his  mind. 

Having  completed  the  term  for  which  he  was  articled  to  Mr. 
Chapman,  he  took  chambers  in  the  Temple,  for  the  purpose  of 
finishing  his  studies  as  a  barrister ;  but  which  design,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  he  never  accomplished.  It  was  now,  how- 
ever, that  he  began  to  assume  the  character  of  a  literary  man,  and 
having  formed  an  intimacy  with  the  parties  who  conducted  the 
Connoisseur,  lie  contributed  several  papers  to  that  periodical, 
wliich  were  admired  for  the  superior  talent  they  exhibited.  He 
also  commenced  the  constant  practice  of  versification,  and  produced 
a  variety  of  translations,  several  of  which  it  is  believed  were  pub- 
lished anonymously  in  the  different  periodicals  of  the  time. 

It  is  also  to  the  same  era,  perhaps,  we  may  refer  the  rapid 
growth  of  that  ardent  attachment  to  his  beautiful  and  accomplished 
cousin,  which  gave  rise  to  so  many  distressful  feelings  in  the 
bosoms  of  both  these  amiable  beings.  Theodora  Jane  Cowper 
was,  if  tradition  is  to  bo  believed,  in  every  way  worthy  of  the 
poet's  love,  but  her  father,  Ashley  Cowper,  considered  the  relation- 
ship between  his  daughter  and  nephew  as  too  close  to  admit  of 
their  union,  and  after  a  long  struggle  with  the  parent's  feelings  on 
the  subject,  and  between  love  and  filial  obedience,  they  resigned 
the  hopes  which,  it  appears,  they  had  long  and  warmly  cherished. 
It  is  impossible  to  say  how  fur  this  might  not  contribute  to  Cow- 
per's  inherent  melancholy.     It  certainly  served   to  exercise   his 


14  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

mus<3 ;  and  the  verses  which  he  wrote  to  his  cousin  before  their  fate 
was  quite  decided,  exhibit  all  that  thoughtful  Inimor  and  that 
l^ayety  which  seems  imbued  with  a  sense  of  its  transitiveness,  and 
is  therefore  deeper  and  more  precious,  which  forms  an  essential 
feature  of  his  poetry.  We  abnost  think  we  hear  the  dejected  and 
middle-aged  man  in  one  of  his  gayer  moods  in  the  following 
stanzas,  which  show  that  his  passion  was  returned  with  equal 
warmth : 

WRITTEN   IN   A   QUARREL. 
The  Delivery  of  it  prevented  by  a  Iieconciiiaiio?i. 

Think,  Delia,  with  what  cruel  haste 

Our  fleeting  pleasures  move, 
Nor  heedless  thus  \u  sorrow  waste 

The  moments  due  to  love 

Re  wise,  my  fair,  and  gently  treat 

The  few  that  are  our  friends  ; 
Think,  thus  abused,  what  sad  regret 
Their  speedy  flight  attends. 

Sure  in  those  eyes  I  loved  so  well 

And  wish'd  so  long  to  see, 
Anger  I  thought  could  never  dwell, 

Or  anger  aim'd  at  me. 

No  bold  offence  of  mine  I  knew 

Should  e'er  provoke  your  hate  ; 
And  early  taught  to  think  you  true, 

Still  hoped  a  gentler  fate. 

With  kindness  bless  the  present  hour, 

Or,  oh  !  we  meet  in  vain  ! 
What  can  we  do  in  absence  more 

Than  suffer  and  complain?. 

Fated  to  ills  beyond  redress, 

We  must  endure  our  woe  ; 
The  days  allow'd  us  to  possess, 

'Tis  madness  to  forego. 

There  is  the  same  delicacy  of  thought  and  expression  in  the 
following,  written,  it  would  seem,  on  a  similar  occasion  as  the  prc- 
'Ceding  verses : 

This  evening,  Delia,  you  and  I 
Have  managed  most  delightfully, 

For  with  a  frown  we  parted  : 
Having  contrived  some  trifle  that 
We  both  may  be  much  troubled  at, 

And  sadly  disconcerted. 


1 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  15 

Yet  well  as  each  perform 'd  their  part, 
We  might  perceive  it  was  but  art ; 

And  that  we  both  intended 
To  sacrifice  a  little  ease  : 
For  all  such  petty  flaws  as  these 

Are  made  but  to  be  mended. 

You  knew,  Dissembler  I  all  the  while, 
How  sweet  it  was  to  reconcile 

After  this  lieavy  pelt  ; 
That  we  should  gain  by  this  allay 
When  next  we  met,  and  laugh  away 

The  care  we  never  lelt. 

Happy  !  when  we  but  seek  to  endure 
A  little  pain,  then  find  a  cure 

By  double  joy  requited  ; 
For  friendship,  like  a  sever'd  bone, 
.  Improves  and  joins  a  stronger  tone 

When  aptly  "reunited. 

Time,  however,  gradually  convinced  the  lovers  that  they  hoped 
in  vain,  and  with  what  a  heavy  and  sickening  heart  the  delicate- 
minded  Cowper  watched  the  fitding  vision  of  happiness  depart, 
may  be  imagined  from  these  verses  : 

Hope,  like  the  short-lived  ray,  that  gleams  awhile, 

Through  wintry  skies,  upon  the  frozen  waste, 
Cheers  e'en  the  face  of  misery  to  a  smile  ; 

Kut  soon  the  momentary  pleasure's  past. 

How  oft,  my  Delia,  since  our  last  farewell, 
(Years  that  have  roll'd  since  that  distressful  hour,) 

Grieved,  I  have  said,  When  most  our  hopes  prevail, 
Our  promised  happiness  is  less  secure  I 

Oft  I  have  thought  the  scene  of  trouble  closed, 
And  hoped  once  more  to  gaze  upon  your  charms  ; 

As  oft  some  dire  mischance  has  interposed. 
And  snatch'd  the  expected  blessing  from  ray  arms. 

The  seaman  thus,  his  shatter'd  vessel  lost, 
Still  vainly  strives  to  shun  the  threatening  death  ; 

And  while  he  thinks  to  gain  the  friendly  coast. 
And  drops  his  feet,  and  feels  the  sands  beneath  : 

Borne  by  the  wave,  steep  sloping  from  the  shore. 

Back  to  the  inclement  deep,  again  he  beats 
The  surge  aside,  and  seems  to  tread  secure  ; 

And  now  the  refluent  wave  his  baffled  toil  defeats. 

Had  you,  my  love,  forbade  me  to  pursue 

My  fond  attempt,  disdainfully  retired, 
And  with  proud  scorn  compell'd  me  to  subdue 

The  ill  fated  passion  by  yourself  inspired  ; 


16  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

Then  haply  to  some  distant  spot  removed, 

Hopeless  to  gain,  nnwillinjr  to  molest 
With  fond  entreaties  whom  I  dearly  loved, 

Despair  or  absence  had  redeem'd  my  rest. 

But  now  sole  partner  in  my  Delia's  heart. 

Yet  doom'd  far  ofif  in  exile  to  complain, 
Etei'nal  absence  cannot  ease  my  smart, 

And  hope  subsists  but  to  prolong  my  pain 

Oh  then,  kind  Heaven  !  be  this  my  latest  breath  ; 

Here  end  my  life,  or  make  it  worth  my  care 
Absence  from  whom  we  love  is  worse  than  death, 

And  frustrate  hope  severer  than  despair. 

Bnt  to  proceed  :  a  period  was  now  approach inf^  in  Cowper's  life 
which  presented  the  peculiarities  of'liis  cliaracterin  their  strongest 
light.  Possessing  connections  from  wliich  any  other  individual 
would  confidently  have  looked  for  powerful  patronage,  he  was  only 
desirous  of  obtaining  some  situation  which  would  enable  him, 
should  he  gain  the  object  of  his  wishes,  to  marry  with  u  prospect 
of  support,  and  at  the  same  time  save  him  from  pursuing  the  more 
toilsome  road  of  his  profession.  In  conformity  with  these  wishes, 
the  interest  of  his  friends  was  employed  to  this  purpose,  and  they 
succeeded  in  obtaining  for  liim,  in  his  thirty-first  year,  the  offices 
of  Keading  Clerk,  and  Clerk  of  the  Private  Committees  to  the 
House  of  Lords.  There  are  faw  persons,  however  nervous,  whose 
timidity  would  prevent  them  from  performing  the  slight  duties  of 
these  offices,  but  to  Cowper  they  presented  an  idea  of  pubhcity 
and  exposure.  He  would  be  obliged  to  read  aloud  before  several 
persons,  and  he  shrunk  with  terror  from  the  performance  of  duties 
which  would  thus  bring  him  out  of  his  self-retirement.  His 
friends,  therefore,  findmg  it  would  be  of  no  avail  to  j>ress  Jiim  into 
this  situation,  obtained  him  the  appointment  of  Clerk  of  the 
Journals.  The  state  of  his  feelings  while  these  circumstances  were 
passing  was  painful  in  the  extreme,  and  causctl  at  last  so  fearful  an 
agitation  of  mind,  that  Ins  acquaintance  began  to  apprehend  the 
most  serious  consequences.  Unfortunately,  a  dispute  occurring  in 
Parliament  on  some  contested  point,  it  became  necessary  that  he 
should,  notwithstanding  the  nature  of  his  present  office,  appear  at 
the  Bar  of  the  House  of  Lords.  After  the  struggle  which  he  had 
already  undergone,  this  was  too  much  for  his  diseased  nervous 
system  to  contend  with,  and  the  friends  who  were  to  accompany 
him  to  the  House  found  him  in  so  melancholy  a  condition  of  de- 
spondency on  the  day  appointed,  that  they  advised  him  to  relin- 
quish any  further  contest  with  liis  apprehensions. 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  11 

The  situation,  accordinofly,  on  wliich  lie  had  placed  many  hopes 
of  prosperity,  and  to  which  he  looked  as  alone  likely  to  provide 
him  with  a  fit  provision  for  marrying,  was  given  up;  bnt  it  is  dis- 
tressing to  know  that  it  was  not  resigned  till  the  delicate  and  suf- 
fering mind  of  Cowper  was  almost  irretrievably  ruined  by  the  anx- 
iety he  had  experienced.  From  this  period  his  intellect  gave  signs 
of  disorder,  and  it  was  deemed  advisable  to  place  him  under  the 
care  of  Doctor  Cotton,  a  physician  at  St.  Alban's,  and  a  man  of 
great  talent  and  virtue.  By  the  kindness  and  professional  skill  of 
this  gentleman,  the  afflicted  condition  of  the  Poet  was  considerably 
alleviated,  and  in  the  course  of  six  or  seven  months  his  mind  began 
to  recover  from  the  fearful  depression  it  had  suffered. 

We  must  here  not  pass  over  without  observation,  the  opinion 
which  has  been  often  brought  forward,  that  the  principal  cause  of 
Cowper's  melancholy  lay  in  his  religion.  '"3-  ni<^^^^^^^'^'Ga,^oiua(j;ic^ 
suppbsltr6"ir~c6l!nTrhTfcTl3^n5c^  The  whole  tendency  of  Jus 

'character,  in  youth,  led  to  the  afflictioifi5:"}Te"?uffercd  in  after  years. 
^^■^"\vas  weak  in  his  physical  constitution,  timid  in  his  temper, 
'  quick  and' sensitive  in  his  feelings,  and  had  a  morbidness  of  tem- 
pcHineiiY^frfdh  gave  to  his  fears  a  constant  and  substantial  gloom. 
ISTany  other  men  have  suffered  from  too  great  sensibility,  from  irri- 
tation or  delicacy  of  mind,  but  no  one,  perhaps,  ever  experienced 
like  Cowper  the  miseries  of  such  a  constitution,  united  with  a 
heavy  gloom  of  melancholy  which  rendered  them  permanent.  It 
was  not  as  the  air  changed,  or  with  the  capriciousness  of  an  invalid, 
that  he  was  gay  or  melancholy.  The  blood  at  his  heart  was  in- 
fected with  disease,  and  it  required  a  change  as  well  in  his  physical 
as  mental  constitution  to  relieve  his  distress.  Every  thing  which 
we  know  of  the  life  of  this  amiable  man  tends  to  conviuce  us  that 
f  no  abstract  opinions  of  any  kind  could  reasonably  be  assigned  as 
\  the  cause  of  his  gloom,  either  at  the  period  of  wliich  we  are  now 
;  speaking,  or  at  any  other.  His  melancholy,  indeed,  might  strongly 
influence  his  religious  belief;  it  might  embitter  the  waters  of  life 
even  as  they  were  poured  out  fresh  into  his  cup — it  might  make 
him  think  of  God  as  of  man  with  terror,  and  imagine  that  the  dark 
shadow  of  his  earthly  fate  was  thrown  far  as  he  could  see  over  the 
abyss  of  futurity ;  but  it  could  do  no  more.  Religion  never  clogs 
the  veins,  nor  distempers  the  intellect,  and  when  its  revelations  are 
made  a  subject  of  unnatural  fear,  it  is  after  the  mind  has  learned 
to  see  shapes  of  terror  wiierever  it  turns ;  when  the  sun  and  stars 
are  as  fraught  with  signs,  as  the  Scriptures  with  declarations,  of 
^^^truction. 


18  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

or  the  riatnrc  of  his  melanclioly,  than  the  followin":  letters:  the 
tirst,  exhibiting  the  broken-hearted  liiimility  which  had  been  con- 
verted by  disease  into  terror;  the  second,  the  tenderness  of  a 
noble  sold  examining  mysteries  to  discover  its  own  condemnation. 
On  being  asked  to  compose  some  hymns,  he  writes : 

"Ask  possibilities,  and  they  sliall  be  performed;  but  ask  no 
hymns  from  a  man  suffering  by  despair,  as  I  do.  I  could  not  sing 
the  Lord's  Song  were  it  to  save  my  life,  banished  as  I  am,  not  to  a 
strange  land,  but  to  a  remoteness  from  his  presence,  in  comparison 
with  which  the  distance  from  cast  to  west  is  no  distance,  is  vicinity 
and  cohesion.  1  dare  not,  cither  in  prose  or  verse,  allow  myself  to 
express  a  frame  cf  mind  which  1  am  conscious  does  not  belong  to 
me;  least  of  all  can  1  venture  to  use  the  language  of  absolute  res- 
ignation, lest,  only  counterfeiting,  I  should  for  that  very  reason 
be  taken  strictly  at  my  word,  and  lose  all  my  remaining  comfort. 
Can  there  not  be  found  among  those  translations  of  Madame  Guion, 
somewhat  that  might  serve  the  purpose?  I  should  think  there 
might.  Submission  to  the  will  of  Christ,  my  memory  tells  me,  is 
a  theme  that  pervades  them  all.  Jf  so,  your  request  is  performed 
already;  and  if  an-y  alteration  in  them  should  be  necessary,  I  will 
with  all  my  heart  make  it.  1  have  no  objection  to  giving  the  graces 
of  the  foreigner  an  English  dress,  but  insuperable  ones  to  all  false 
pretences  and  affected  exhibitions  of  what  I  do  not  feel." 

The  next  is  a  still  more  melancholy  evidence  of  his  unconquer- 
able gloom.: 

"  I  rejoice  that  you  and  yours  reached  London  safe,  especially 
when  I  reflect  that  you  performed  the  journey  on  a  day  so  fiital,  as 
I  understand,  to  others  travelling  the  same  road.  I  found  those 
comforts  in  your  visit  which  have  formerly  sweetened  all  our  In- 
terviews, in  part  restored.  I  knew  you :  knew  you  for  the  same 
shepherd  who  was  sent  to  lead  me  out  of  the  wilderness  into  the 
pasture  where  the  chief  Shepherd  feeds  his  flock,  and  felt  my  sen- 
timents of  affectionate  friendship  for  you  the  same  as  ever.  But 
one  thing  was  still  wanting,  and  that  thing  the  crown  of  all.  I 
shall  find  it  in  God's  time,  if  it  be  not  lost  forever.  When  I  say 
this,  I  say  it  trembling:  for  at  what  time  soever  comfort  ehall 
come,  it  will  not  come  without  its  attendant  evil ;  and  whatever 
good  thing  may  occur  in  the  interval,  I  have  sad  forebodings  of  the 
event,  having  learned,  by  experience,  that  I  was  born  to  be  per- 
secuted with  peculiar  fury,  and  assuredly  believing,  that  such  as 
my  lot  has  been,  it  will  be  so  to  the  end.  This  belief  is  connected 
in  my  mind  with  an  observation  I  have  often  made,  and  is,  per- 
haps, founded,  in  great  part,  upon  it ;  that  there  is  a  certain  sti/U 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  19 

of  dispensations  maintained  by  Providence  in  the  dealings  of  God 
witli  every  man,  whicli,  however  the  incidents  of  hi^  life  may  vary, 
and  though  he  may  be  thrown  into  many  different  situations,  is 
never  exchanged  for  another." 

As  the  mind  of  Cowper  regained  some  degree  of  tranqiiillity,  the 
dread  with  which  his  religious  feelings  had  inspired  him,  was 
gradually  changed  into  a  humble  and  comforting  trust  in  the  Divine 
goodness.  Shortly  after  this  improvement  in  his  mental  state,  he 
was  induced,  by  the  persuasions  of  his  brother,  a  clergyman,  res- 
ident at  Cambridge,  to  make  his  home  at  Huntingdon,  at  which 
place  he  accordingly  took  a  lodging,  and  determined  upon  leading 
a  life  of  quiet  and  retirement.  liis  removal  to  Huntingdon  took 
place  in  June,  1765,  and  was  followed  l^y  the  formation  of  a  strict 
and  affectionate  friendship  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Unvvin.  It  was 
under  the  roof  of  this  clergyman  that  Cowper  found  the  greatest 
comfort  of  his  existence,  ^which,  though  subjected  to  the  distressing 
disorders  of  his  constitution,  was  rendered  comparatively  happy 
by  the  solicitous  attention  of  affection.  He  has  forcibly  described, 
in  one  of  his  letters  to  his  cousin,  Lady  Hesketh,  the  pleasure  he 
felt  on  first  forming  an  intimacy  with  these  friends  of  his  solitude. 
"Since  I  wrote  the  above,"  says  lie,  "I  met  Mrs.  Unwin  in  the 
street,  and  went  home  with  her.  She  and  I  walked  together  near 
two  hours  in  the  garden,  and  had  a  conversation,  which  did  mo 
more  good  than  I  should  have  received  from  an  audience  of  the 
first  prince  in  Europe  ;  that  woman  is  a  blessing  to  me,  and  I  never 
see  her  without  being  the  better  for  her  company.  I  am  treated  in 
th-c  family  as  if  I  was  a  near  relation,  and  have  been  repeatedly  in- 
vited to  call  upon  them  at  all  times.  You  know  what  a  shy  fellow 
I  am :  I  cannot  prevail  with  myself  to  make  so  much  use  of  this 
privilege,  as  I  am  sure  they  intend  I  should ;  but,  perhaps,  this 
awkwardness  will  wear  off  hereafter.  It  was  my  earnest  request, 
before  I  left  St.  Alban's,  that  whenever  it  might  please  Providence 
to  dispose  of  me,  I  might  meet  with  such  an  acquaintance  as  1  find 
in  Mrs.  Unwin.  How  happy  it  is  to  believe  with  a  steadtast 
assurance  that  our  petitions  are  heard,  even  while  we  are  making 
them  !" 

His  acquaintance  with  this  amiable  woman  and  her  family  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  quickly  ripened  into  an  ardent  friendship,  but  the 
juelancholy  death  of  Mr.  Unwin,  which  was  occasioned  by  a  fall 
from  his  horse,  made  it  necessary  that  the  widow  and  her  son  and 
daughter  should  find  another  residence,  and  Olney  being  fixed  on^ 
Cowper  removed  thither  with  his  affectionate  friends.  At  his  new 
place  of  abode  he  became  acquainted  with  the  Eeverend  Mr.  New- 
ton, and  spent  with  him  many  of  the  hours  which  he  devoted  to 


20 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 


the  tranquillizing  contemplation  of  religious  truth.  The  manner 
in  which  he  passed  his  time  in  this  retreat  is  an  interesting  exem- 
plification of  the  goodness  of  his  nature.  The  charity  of  his  heart 
furnished  him  with  his  chief  employment.  To  his  own  means  of 
doing  good,  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  added  the  benevo- 
lence of  others,  and  he  was  appointed  by  more  than  one  wealthy 
person  who  admired  his  goodness,  to  administer  their  alms.  It  is, 
however,  to  be  doubted,  as  his  friend  and  biographer,  Mr.  Hayley, 
justly  observes,  whether  the  life  he  was  then  leading  was  not  too 
recluse  for  the  state  of  his  mind.  But  for  a  long  period  during  his 
residence  at  Olucy,  he  appears  to  have  been  tranquil,  and  with  his 
peculiarly  constituted  nature,  as  free  as  lie  could  be  from  depres- 
sion. There  cannot,  perhaps,  be  a  better  proof  of  his  i^iproved 
health  than  the  knowledge,  that  he  had  about  this  time 'to  suffer 
many  severe  trials  in  the  afflictions  of  his  brother  and  other  parts 
of  his  family.  The  former,  after  a  long  illness,  fell  a  victim  to  the 
disease,  and  the  subject  of  our  memoir  lost  in  him  a  most  kind  and 
affectionate  as  well  a  beloved  relative.  On  looking  at  tiie  corre- 
spondence of  Cowper  during  this  period,  we  find  little  which  could 
induce  us  to  believe,  that  cither  enthusiasm  or  melancholy  had  been 
the  consequence  of  his  deep  and  fervent  piety.  The  account  which 
he  gives  of  his  brother's  death  is  calm  and  thoughtful — exhibiting 
only  the  sublime  feelings  of  a  man  who  had  just  conquered  the 
regrets  of  nature  by  a  contemplation  of  divine  truth. 

It  was  not  till  several  months  after  the  loss  of  his  brother,  that 
Cowper's  mind  relapsed  into  its  former  depression.  Hitherto  it 
had  been  not  only  composed,  but  to  a  cei'tain  degree  active.  At 
Mr.  Newton's  request,  he  composed  the  sixty-eight  hymns  wliich 
appeared  with  his  initials  in  the  Olney  Collection,  and  had  originally 
intended  to  contribute  more,  but  was  prevented  by  the  sickness  to 
which  we  have  alluded,  and  which  commenced  its  afflicting  attacks 
in  the  year  1773.  The  patient  and  devoted  kindness,  with  which 
Mrs.  Unwin  attended  him  during  this  season  of  helplessness, 
affords  an  affecting  picture  of  female  friendship.  Through  the 
many  years  that  his  illness  lasted,  his  gentle  nurse  watched  over 
him  with  an  unwearying  constancy,  which  Cowper  himself  likened 
to  that  of  a  mother,  and  in  doing  this  he  gave  all  that  the  human 
heart  can  give  in  gratitude  for  attention. 

For  more  than  a  year  the  malady  continued  at  its  height,  but 
fifter  that  time  his  health  had  an  appearance  of  improvement,  and 
he  began  to  employ  himself  in  taming  the  three  hares  which  are 
celebrated  in  the  account  he  gave  of  his  pursuits.  But  it  was  not 
till  the  year  1780,  that  we  find  him  regaining  sufficient  command 
over  himself,  to  trust  his  faculties  with  literary  exertions,  which  it 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  21 

is  extraordinary  were  nearly  all  subsequent  to  the  alarming  attack 
of  which  we  are  speaking.  In  the  year  above  mentioned  he  read 
considerably,  and  composed  "The  Nightingale  and  Glow-worm," 
and  towards  its  termination  began  to  write  with  the  serious  inten- 
tion of  appearing  before  the  public  as  an  author.  This  determina- 
tion, however,  he  kept  known  to  himself  alone,  but  proceeded 
steadily  with  his  work,  and  in  March,  1781,  "  Table  Talk,"  "  The 
Progress  of  Error,"  "Truth,"  and  "  Expostulation,"  were  ready 
for  the  press.  The  publication  of  these  was  undertaken  by  Mr. 
Jo'hnson,  of  St.  Paul's  Church-Yard,  and  the  following  season  they 
were  ushered  into  the  world,  with  the  additional  compositions  of 
"  Hope,"  "  Charity,"  "  Conversation,"  and  "Ketirement." 

About  the  period  to  which  we  now  allude,  rnwpAr  j^f^nnm^^  nn- 
j|vum^i£dl3yi<^1i  T.nrly  .An^tpn,  and_to_JieiL_suggestbn^^ 
existence^  of_tlig  "Task,"  and_tliat_ admirable  piece  of  humor, 
"  diilllLGilpin."  The  greaterpart  of  the  former  wasToiiTpletecl  in 
February,  1784,  and  in  October  it  was  sent  to  press.  The  accounts 
which  are  given  of  his  situation  at  this  period  afford  a  refreshing 
contrast  to  the  details  which  describe  his  condition  both  in  the 
earlier  and  later  portions  of  his  existence.  In  the  society  of  a  few 
select  friends  he  now  divided  his  time  between  the  pleasures  of 
conversation  and  the  gently  exciting  labor  of  composition.  His 
mind  thus  gradually  assumed  a  more  cheerful  east,  and  was,  per- 
haps, in  the  healthiest  state  which  it  was  capable  of  attaining. 

Shortly  after  the  completion  of  the  above-named  works  he  began 
the  translation  of  Homer,  a  production  which,  whatever  merit  it 
possesses,  was  better  adapted  to  furnish  the  poet  with  amusement 
than  add  to  his  popularity.  To  be  admired  in  his  own  naked! 
sublimity,  Homer  must  be  read  by  the  scholar,  and  in  his  own! 
language  ;  to  engage  the  attention  of  readers  of  a  different  descrip-l 
tion,  he  must  be  changed  in  form  and  spirit  as  well  as  language.      \ 

In  1787,  a  slight  attack  of  his  old  complaint  made  it  necessary  that 
he  should  intermit  his  pursuits,  but  it  passed  off  without  seriously 
affecting  him,  and  he  shortly  after  resumed  his  work  of  translating, 
which  was  completed  on  the  25th  August,  1790.  He  was  em- 
ployed about  the  same  time  on  an  edition  of  Milton,  and  soon 
after  became  acquainted  with  his  Avell-known  biographer,  Mr. 
Hayley,  of  whom  he  uniformly  spoke  with  the  warmest  affection. 

Under  these  circumstances,  his  spirits  continued  to  hold  good 
till  the  year  1794,  when  his  mind  began  rapidly  to  sink  into  its 
most  mehincholy  state  of  despondency.  The  health  of  his  watch- 
ful friend,  Mrs.  Unwin,  had  also  undergone  an  alarming  change, 
and.the  united  weight  of  time  and  sickness  had  brought  her  to  the 
lust  stage  of  helpless  and  imbecile  old  age.     Mr.  Hayley  and  his 


I 

Co 


22  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

Other  affectionate  acquaintances  continued  to  visit  liim  and  use 
every  means  to  restore  his  health,  but  their  solicitude  was  vain, 
and  he  continued  sunk  in  a  melancholy  which  could  neither  be  re- 
moved nor  alleviated.  It  was  at  length  determined  to  try  the  cx- 
penment  of  a  change  of  air,  and  his  amiable  relative,  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Johnson,  look  upon  himself  the  charge  of  conducting  him  into 
Korfolk.  While  residing  at  Dunham  Lodge,  and  afterwards  at 
Mundsley,  liis  spirits  with  slight  exceptions  continued  in  the  same 
state,  and  though  an  occasional  glimpse  of  hope  now  and  then  en- 
couraged liis  desponding  friends,  they  at  length  saw  the  gradual 
and  certain  approaches  of  decay  under  the  most  distressing  circum- 
stances in  which  death  can  visit  an  intellectual  and  reasoning  be- 
ing. Cowper  had  continued  to  compose  several  minor  pieces  of 
poetry,  and  to  employ  himself  occasionally  in  reading  during  some 
time  past,  but  in  January,  1800,  his  strength  began  rapidly  to  de- 
cline, and  on  the  25th  of  April  of  the  same  year,  he  yielded  up  his 
gentle  and  suffering  spirit. 

Morality  never  found  in  genius  a  more  devoted  advocate  than 
owper;  nor  has  moral  wisdom,  in  its  plain  and  severe  precepts, 
been  ever  more  successfully  combined  with  the  delicate  spirit  of 
poetry  than  in  his  works.4  The  austerity  of  tone  in  which  virtue 
arraigns  the  conscience  is  feo  strongly  in  contrast  with  the  strtTaiid 
lulling  voice  ofJiiOG^yXb^tMQ  rarely  expect  to  see  thtJTlTTft-h'armony. 
Even  when  the  muses  were  worshipped  as~^dTvimXT(ri§,^alf(r'men  re- 
ceived laws  and  religion  from  their  lips,  they  only  gained  their 
authority  by  veiling  themselves  in  the  rich  robes  of  ancient  fable, 
and  submitting  the  pure  and  essential  glory  of  truth  to  creations 
in  which  men  might  find  their  passions  as  well  as  their  spirit  in- 
terested. Their  lessons  were  taught  by  the  side  of  magic  fountains, 
or  in  the  green  bowers  of  leafy  solitudes— they  were  heard  amid 
the  singing  of  birds,  the  sighing  of  the  lover's  lute,  and  the  mystic 
voices  of  a  thousand  attendant  ministers  of  delight.  Thus  they 
were  worshipped  because  they  gave  new  beauty  to  the  world  by 
the  light  they  breathed  upon  its  surface,  and  they  were  hearkened 
to  because  they  adapted  themselves  as  well  to  the  weakness  as  to 
the  good  of  man's  mind  ;  and,  in  telling  of  the  majesty  of  nature, 
and  of  the  might  that  lies  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  truth,  invested 
him  with  the  attributes  of  its  divinity.  The  moral,  didactic  verses 
of  antiquity  are  almost  too  plain  and  destitute  of  grace  to  be  re- 
ceived as  pretty.  The  writings  of  Lucretius  are  philosophical,  and 
have,  therefore,  a  splendor  about  them  which  belongs  to  a  source 
different  to  that  from  which  the  ethical  poet  derives  his  materials 
of  ornament.  It  is  in  modern  times  only  that  morality,  as  such, 
has  been  successfully  invested  with  the  grace  of  poetry.    But  ex.- 


MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER.  23 

tensive  as  has  been  the  popularity  of  the  writers  who  have  snc- 
eecdecl  in  tiiis  species  of  composition,  their  number  is  less  than 
that  of  any  other  class.  Nor  is  it  difficult  to  trace  the  causes  of 
this  circumstance.  Poetry  naturally  deals  in  dreams  and  shadows, 
wiiich,  bright  and  faithful  images  of  reality  as  they  may  be,  are 
still  but  dreams  and  shadows.  Let  it  take  only  the  actual  substance 
of  things — the  present  and  living  forms  of  the  earth,  uninvested 
with  the  sunny  and  glorifying  atmosphere  of  imagination — and  it 
loses  the  property  which  makes  it  poetry.  A  mind,  therefore, 
wliich  is  unendowed  with  that  strange  faculty  by  which  the  airy 
nothingnesses  of  an  ideal  world  are  moulded  into  form — or  with  that 
power,  equally  strange,  by  which  it  can  sublimate  the  things  of 
earth,  till  they  make  a  part  of  its  own  ethereal  creation — an  intel- 
lect migifted  with  these  faculties  can  never  possess  the  proper 
materials  of  poetry.  But  it  need  not  be  said,  that  the  mind  they 
inspire  is  not  likely  to  employ  itself  on  subjects  incapable  of  being 
invested  with  the  charm  which  it  can  bestow  on  others  more  adapted 
to  its  endowments;  nor  need  it  scarcely  more  to  be  observed,  that 
a  simple  lesson  of  morality  is  not  a  subject  on  which  such  a  mind 
is  naturally  likely  to  exert  its  powers.  Whatever  is  plain  and  ob- 
vious to  honest  reason — whatever  has  been  matter  of  instruction 
for  centuries,  and  is  of  so  fixed  a  character  that  it  can  neither  be 
changed  nor  modified  by  imagination,  can  only  be  made  a  part  of 
poetry  by  incorporation  with  matter  more  shadowy  and  ethereal, 
and  more  completely  under  the  dominion  of  the  poet's  mind. 

And  here  again  we  find  an  obstacle  to  the  successful  production 
of  ethical  poetry.  I  Although  it  is  very  possible  for  an  imaginative 
writer  to  blend  morpl  precepts  with  his  inventions,  it  is,  it  nuist  be 
confessed,  far  more  agreeable  to  the  true  and  proper  nature  of 
poetry,  to  teach  virtue  and  inculcate  its  sublime  truths,  by  an  ap- 
peal from  the  imagination  to  the  imagination— by  presenting  char- 
acters already  made  beautiful  by  the  action  of  noi)le  }«rinciples,  in- 
stead of  naked  principles  out  of  which  to  invent  the  characters. 
And  so  powerful,  indeed,  is  the  action  of  the  imaofination  where  it 
exists,  that  it  will  seldom  suflfer  the  mind  to  operate  independently 
of  its  influence.  It  takes  possession  of  the  thoughts,  whether  they 
spring  from  the  head  or  the  heart,  whether  they  are  born  in 
reason  or  passion  ;  and  it  is  only  when  the  poet  has  a  singular  self- 
possession — a  rare  union  of  poetical  feeling  with  the  energy  of  cool 
thought — that  he  wiUingly  and  deliberately  subjects  his  mind  to  the 
composition  of  moral  verse. 

Among  the  few,  the  very  few,  who  have  possessed  that  gift  of  a 
spirit  full  of  the  sweetness  and  the  music  of  poetry,  with  this  pure 
morality  of  purpose,   is  Cowpcr.j  The  mind  of  this  admirable 


I 


24  MEMOIR    OF    WILLIAM    COWPER. 

writer  was  marked  with  tlie  genuine  traits  whicli  distinguisli  a 
poetical  from  other  minds,  lie  is,  it  is  true,  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  great  masters  of  tlie  art,  whose  lofty  j^nd  creative  imagi- 
nations place  them  in  a  sphere  of  their  own,  but  he  had  a  power 
of  collecting  the  scenes  and  harmonies  of  nature  into  the  focus  of 
his  own  heart,  and  of  embuing  them  there  with  light  and  graces 
He  had  an  intensity  and  delicacy  of  feeling  which  made  him  pe^ 
ceive  what  is  most  beautiful  in  the  complicated  character  of  hiV 
manity,  and  he  had  that  intuitive  sense  of  the  mind's  action,  which 
enabled  him  to  present  to  others  the  objects  and  sentiments  which 
influence  with  the  greatest  strength.  I  By  these  qualities  of  his 
intellect,  by  the  tenderness  of  his  heart,  and  the  extreme  suscepti- 
bility of  his  nature,  he  was  possessed  of  all  the  qualities,  with  the 
exception  of  a  powerful  imagination,  which  form  the  character  of 
a  poetifand  in  being  denied  the  stronger  excitements  of  fancy,  ho 
seems  to  have  been  formed  by  Providence  to  produce  the  works 
he  composed.  /  He  was  endowed  witli  all  the  powers  which  a  poet 
could  want  who  was  to  be  the  moralist  of  the  world-^thc  reprover, 
but  not  the  satirist,  of  men — tlie  teacher  of  simple  truths,  which 
were  to  be  rendered  gracious  without  endangering  their  simpli- 
city. 


TABLE  TALK. 


Si  te  forte  meoe  gravis  uret  sarcina  chart?© 
Abjicito.  lIoK.  Lib.  i.  Epist.  13. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

True  glory  and  false,  1— Man  not  made  for  kings,  but  kings  for  man,  47— Kingly 
glories  of  England,  63— Quevedo's  sarcasm  on  royalty,  94— Kings  not  to  be 
envied,  but  pitied,  108— The  objects  of  vulgar  animadversion,  152— Britons'  scorn 
of  arbitrary  power,  205— French  character,  as  contrasted  with  English,  235— 
Blessings  of  freedom,  261— Restraint  of  just  laws  necessary  to  true  liberty, 
311 -Riot  the  result  of  unrestrained  freedom,  319— Patriots  .  tribute  to  Chatham, 
337— Political  dangers  of  England,  363— To  be  averted  only  by  penitence  and 
prayer,  391— National  corruption  portends  national  destruction.  415— Public 
events  instruments  of  judgment  in  the  hand  of  Providence.  439— The  true  poet 
gifted  in  part  with  the  prophetic  office,  481— Lofty  subjects  necessary  to  poetic 
excellence,  507— Homer,  Virgil,  Milton,  557— Progress  of  poetic  genius,  569— Re- 
ligion the  highest  theme  of  poetry,  718. 

A.  You  told  me,  1  remember,  glory,  built 
On  seltish  principles,  is  shame  and  guilt ; 
The  deeds  that  men  admire  as  half  divine, 
Stark  naught,  because  corrupt  in  their  design. 
Strange  doctrine  this !  that  without  scruple  tears 
Tlie  laurel  that  the  very  lightning  si)ares,  G 

Brings  down  the  warrior's  trophy  to  the  dust, 

»And  eats  into  his  bloody  sword  like  rust. 
I).  I  grant  that,  men  continuing  what  they  are, 
Fierce,  avaricious,  proud,  there  must  be  war; 
And  never  meant  the  rule  should  be  ai)plied 

»To  him  that  fights  Avitli  justice  on  his  side. 
Let  laurels,  drench'd  in  pure  Parnassian  dews, 
Keward  his  memory,  dear  to  every  Muse, 
Who,  with  a  courage  of  unshaken  root, 
In  honor's  field  advancing  his  firm  foot, 
Plants  it  upon  the  line  that  Justice  draws,  17 

3 


I 


26  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

And  will  prevail  or  perish  in  her  cause. 
'Tis  to  the  virtues  of  such  men,  man  owes 
His  portion  in  the  good  that  Heaven  bestows; 
And  when  recording  History  displays 
Feats  of  renown,  though  wrought  in  ancient  days, 
Tells  of  a  few  stout  hearts  tliat  fought  and  died, 
AVhere  duty  placed  them,  at  their  country's  side; 
The  man  that  is  not  moved  with  what  he  reads, 
That  takes  not  lire  at  their  heroic  deeds, 
Unworthy  of  the  blessings  of  the  brave,  27 

Is  base  in  kind,  and  born  to  be  a  slave. 
But  let  eternal  infamy  ])ursue 
•^The  wretch  to  naught  but  his  ambition  true  ; 
AVho,  for  the  sake  of  filling  with  one  blast 
The  post-horns  of  all  Europe,  lays  her  waste. 
Think  yourself  stationed  on  a  towering  rock, 
To  see  a  people  scattered  like  a  flock, 
Some  royal  mastiff  panting  at  their  heels, 
With  all  the  savage  thirst  a  tiger  feels; 
Then  view  him  self-proclaimM  in  a  gazette, 
Chief  monster  that  has  plagued  the  nations  yet!  38 

The  globe  and  sceptre  in  such  hands  misplaced, 
Those  ensigns  of  dominion,  how  disgraced ! 
The  glass  that  bids  man  mark  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  Death's  own  scythe,  would  better  speak  his  power. 
Then  grace  the  bony  phantom  in  their  stead 
"With  the  king's  slioulder-knot  and  gay  cockade, 
Clothe  the  twin  brethren  in  each  other's  dress, 
The  same  their  occu])ation  and  success. 

A.  'Tis  your  belief  the  world  was  made  for  man  ; 
Kings  do  but  reason  on  the  self-same  plan : 
Maintaining  yours,  you  cannot  theirs  condemn,  49 
Who  think,  or  seem  to  think,  man  made  for  them. 

B.  Seldom,  alas !  the  power  of  logic  reigns 
AVith  much  sufficiency  in  royal  brains: 
Such  reasoning  falls  like  an  inverted  cone. 
Wanting  its  proper  base  to  stand  upon. 

Man  made  for  kings !  those  optics  are  but  dim 

That  tell  you  so— say,  rather,  they  for  him. 

That  were  indeed  a  king-ennobling  thought. 

Could  they,  or  would  they,  reason  as  they  ought. 

The  diadem,  with  mighty  projects  lined, 

To  catch  renown  by  ruining  mankind,  GO 


TABLE    TALK.  27 

Is  worth,  with  all  its  gold  and  glittering  store, 
Just  what  the  toy  will  sell  for,  and  no  more. 

Oh !  bright  occasions  of  dispensing  good, 
IIow  seldom  used,  how  little  understood! 
To  pour  in  Virtue's  lap  her  just  reward ; 
Keep  Vice  restrained  behind  a  double  guard ; 
To  quell  the  faction  that  affronts  the  throne, 
By  silent  magnanimity  alone; 
^To  nurse  with  tender  care  the  thriving  arts ; 
Watch  every  beam  Philosophy  imparts ;  70 

To  give  Religion  her  unbridled  scope, 
forjudge  by  statute  a  believer's  hope; 
AVith  close  fidelity  and  love  unfeign'd, 
To  keep  the  matrimonial  bond  unstain'd ; 
Covetous  only  of  a  virtuous  praise. 
His  life  a  lesson  to  the  land  he  sways ; 
To  touch  the  sword  with  conscientious  awe, 
ISTor  draw  it  but  when  duty  bids  him  draw ; 
To  sheathe  it  in  the  peace-restoring  close, 
With  joy  beyond  what  victory  bestows; — 
Bless'd  country,  where  these  kingly  glories  shine !         81 
Bless'd  England,  if  this  happiness  be  thine! 

A.  Guard  what  you  say ;  the  patriotic  tribe 
Will  sneer  and  charge  you  with  a  bribe. 

i?.  A  bribe? 
The  Avorth  of  his  three  kingdoms  I  defy, 
To  lure  me  to  the  baseness  of  a  lie : 
And,  of  all  lies  (be  that  one  poet's  boast), 
The  lie  that  flatters  I  abhor  the  most. 
Those  arts  be  theirs  who  hate  his  gentle  reign ; 
But  he  that  loves  him  has  no  need  to  feign.  * 

A.  Your  smooth  eulogium  to  one  crown  address'd,  92 
Seems  to  imply  a  censure  on  the  rest. 

B.  Quevedo,  as  lie  tells  his  sober  tale, 
Ask'd,  when  in  Hell,  to  see  the  royal  jail; 
Approved  their  method  in  all  other  things : 

"  But  where,  good  sir,  do  you  confine  your  kings?" 

*' There" — said  his  guide — ''the  group  is  full  in  view." 

''Indeed!" — replied  the  Don — "there  are  but  few." 

Ilis  black  interpreter  the  charge  disdain'd — 

"  Few,  fellow  ? — there  are  all  that  ever  reign'd." 

Wit,  undistinguishing,  is  apt  to  strike 

The  guilty  and  not  guilty  both  alike :  103 


I 


28  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  grant  the  sarcasm  is  too  severe, 

And  we  can  readily  refute  it  here ; 

While  Alfred's  name,  the  father  of  his  age, 

And  the  sixth  Edward's,  grace  the  historic  page. 

A.  Kings  then,  at  last,  have  but  the  lot  of  all : 
By  their  own  conduct  they  must  stand  or  fall. 

B.  True.     While  they  live,  the  courtly  laureate  pays 
His  quit-rent  ode,  his  peppercorn  of  praise ; 

And  many  a  dunce  whose  fingers  itch  to  write, 

Adds  as  he  can  his  tributary  mite.  112 

A  subject's  faults  a  subject  may  proclaim, 

A  monarch's  errors  are  forbidden  game ! 

Thus,  free  from  censure,  overawed  by  fear. 

And  praised  for  virtues  that  they  scorn  to  wear, 

The  fleeting  forms  of  majesty  engage 

Respect,  while  stalking  o'er  hfe's  narrow  stage ; 

Then  leave  their  crimes  for  history  to  scan. 

And  ask,  with  busy  scorn,  Was  this  the  man  ? 

I  pity  kings,  whom  worship  waits  upon 
Obsequious  from  the  cradle  to  the  throne ; 
Before  whose  infant  eyes  the  flatterer  bows,  124 

And  binds  a  wreath  about  their  baby  brows; 
Whom  education  stiflens  into  state. 
And  death  awakens  from  that  dream  too  late. 
Oh !  if  Servility  with  supple  knees. 
Whose  trade  it  is  to  smile,  to  crouch,  to  please ; 
If  smooth  Dissimulation,  skill'd  to  grace 
A  devil's  purpose  with  an  angel's  face ; 
If  smiling  peeresses  and  simpering  peers. 
Encompassing  his  throne  a  few  short  years ; 
If  the  gilt  carriage  and  the  pamper'd  steed. 
That  wants  no  driving,  and  disdains  the  lead ;  135 

If  guards,  mechanically  form'd  in  ranks. 
Playing,  at  beat  of  drum,  their  martial  pranks, 
Shouldering  and  standing  as  if  struck  to  stone, 
While  condescending  majesty  looks  on  ; — 
If  monarchy  consist  in  such  base  things, 
Sighing,  I  say  again,  I  pity  kings ! 

To  be  suspected,  thwarted,  and  withstood. 
Even  when  he  labors  for  his  country's  good ; 
To  see  a  band  call'd  patriot  for  no  cause. 
But  that  they  catch  at  popular  applause. 
Careless  of  all  the  anxiety  he  feels,  146 


TABLE    TALK.  29 

Hook  disappointment  on  the  public  wheels ; 
With  all  their  flippant  fluency  of  tongue, 
Most  confident,  when  palpably  most  wrong ; — 
If  this  be  kingly,  then  farewell  for  me 
All  kingship ;  and  may  I  be  poor  and  free ! 

To  be  the  Table  Talk  of  clubs  up-stairs, 
To  which  the  unwash'd  artificer  repairs; 
To  indulge  his  genius  after  long  fatigue, 
By  diving  into  cabinet  intrigue 

(For  what  kings  deem  a  toil,  as  well  they  may,  156 

To  him  is  relaxation,  and  mere  play); 
To  win  no  praise  when  well- wrought  plans  prevail. 
But  to  be  rudely  censured  when  they  fail ; 
To  doubt  the  love  his  favorites  may  pretend, 
And  in  reality  to  find  no  friend ; 
If  he  indulge  a  cultivated  taste. 
His  galleries  with  the  works  of  art  well  graced, 
To  hear  it  calPd  extravagance  and  waste ; — 
If  these  attendants,  and  if  such  as  these. 
Must  follow  royalty,  then  welcome  ease ! 
However  humble  and  confined  the  sphere,  167 

Happy  the  state  that  has  not  these  to  fear ! 

A.  Thus  men,  whose  thoughts  contemplative  have  dwelt 
On  situations  that  they  never  felt, 
Start  up  sagacious,  cover'd  with  the  dust 
Of  dreaming  study  and  pedantic  rust, 
And  prate  and  preach  about  what  others  prove, 
As  if  the  world  and  they  were  hand  and  glove. 
Leave  kingly  backs  to  cope  with  kingly  cares ; 
They  have  their  weight  to  carry,  subjects  theirs ; 
Poets,  of  all  men,  ever  least  regret 

Increasing  taxes  and  the  nation's  debt.  178 

Could  you  contrive  the  payment,  and  rehearse 
The  mighty  plan,  oracular,  in  verse, 
No  bard,  howe'er  majestic,  old  or  new. 
Should  claim  my  fix'd  attention  more  than  yon. 

B,  Not  Brindley  nor  Bridgewater  would  essay 
To  turn  the  coarse  of  Helicon  that  way ; 
Nor  would  the  Nine  consent  the  sacred  tide 
Should  j)url  amidst  the  trafiSc  of  Cheapside, 
Or  tinkle  in  'Change  Alley,  to  amuse 

^^The  leathern  ears  of  stockjobbers  and  Jews. 


30  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  themes  more  pertinent,  if  less  sublime. 

AVhen  ministers  and  ministerial  arts ; 

Patriots,  who  love  good  places  at  their  hearts ; 

When  admirals,  extolPd  for  standing  still. 

Or  doing  nothing  with  a  deal  of  skill ; 

Generals,  who  will  not  conquer  when  they  may, 

Firm  friends  to  peace,  to  pleasure,  and  good  pay ; 

"When  Freedom  wounded  almost  to  despair. 

Though  Discontent  alone  can  find  out  where ; — 

When  themes  like  these  employ  the  poet's  tongue,      199 

I  hear  as  mute  as  if  a  siren  sung. 

Or  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  power  maintains 

A  Briton's  scorn  of  arbitrary  chains  ? 

That  were  a  theme  might  animate  the  dead, 

And  move  the  lips  of  poets  cast  in  lead. 

B.  The  cause,  though  worth  the  search,  may  yet  elude 
Conjecture  and  remark,  however  shrewd. 
They  take,  perhaps,  a  well-directed  aim. 
Who  seek  it  in  his  climate  and  his  frame. 
Liberal  in  all  things  else,  yet  Nature  here 
With  stern  severity  deals  out  the  year.  210 

Winter  invades  the  spring,  and  often  pours 
A  chilling  flood  on  summer's  drooping  flowers ; 
Unwelcome  vapors  quench  autumnal  beams, 
Ungenial  blasts  attending,  curl  the  streams ; 
The  peasants  urge  their  harvest,  ply  the  fork 
With  double  toil,  and  shiver  at  their  work. 
Thus  with  a  rigor,  for  his  good  design'd. 
She  rears  her  favorite  man  of  all  mankind. 
His  form  robust,  and  of  elastic  tone, 
Proportion'd  well,  half  muscle  and  half  bone, 
Supplies  with  Avarm  activity  and  force  221 

A  mind  well  lodged,  and  masculine  of  course. 
Hence  Liberty,  sweet  Liberty,  inspires 
And  keeps  alive  his  fierce  but  noble  fires. 
Patient  of  constitutional  control, 
He  bears  it  with  meek  manliness  of  soul ; 
But  if  authority  grow  wanton,  woe 
To  him  that  treads  upon  his  free-born  toe ! 
One  step  beyond  the  boundary  of  the  laws 
Fires  him  at  once  in  Freedom's  glorious  cause. 
Thus  proud  Prerogative,  not  much  revered. 
Is  seldom  felt,  though  sometimes  seen  and  heard ;       232 


J 


TABLE    TALK.  31 

And  in  his  cage,  like  parrot  fine  and  gay, 
Is  kept  to  strut,  look  big,  and  talk  away. 

Born  in  a  climate  softer  far  than  ours, 
Not  form'd  like  us,  with  such  Herculean  powers, 
The  Frenchman,  easy,  debonair,  and  brisk, 
Give  him  his  lass,  his  fiddle,  and  his  frisk, 
Is  always  happy,  reign  whoever  may. 
And  laughs  the  sense  of  misery  far  away. 
He  drinks  his  simple  beverage  with  a  gust ;  . 
And,  feasting  on  an  onion  and  a  crust,  242 

We  never  feel  the  alacrity  and  joy 
With  which  he  shouts  and  carols,  Vive  le  Roi ! 
Fill'd  with  as  much  true  merriment  and  glee, 
As  if  he  heard  his  king  say — Slave,  be  free. 

Thus  happiness  depends,  as  Nature  shows, 
Less  on  exterior  things  than  most  suppose. 
Vigilant  over  all  that  he  has  made. 
Kind  Providence  attends  with  gracious  aid ; 
Bids  equity  tln-oughout  his  works  prevail. 
And  weighs  the  nations  in  an  even  scale ; 
He  can  encourage  slavery  to  a  smile,  253 

And  till  with  discontent  a  British-  isle. 

A.  Freeman  and  slave,  then,  if  the  case  be  such, 
Stand  on  a  level ;  and  you  prove  too  much. 

If  all  men  indiscriminately  share 
His  fostering  power  and  tutelary  care, 
As  well  be  yoked  by  Despotism's  hand. 
As  dwell  at  large  in  Britain's  chartered  land. 

B.  No.     Freedom  has  a  thousand  charms  to  show, 
That  slaves,  howe'er  contented,  never  know. 

The  mind  attains,  beneath  her  happy  reign, 

The  growth  that  Nature  meant  she  should  attain ;       264 

The  varied  fields  of  science,  ever  new. 

Opening  and  wider  opening  on  her  view, 

She  ventures  onward  with  a  prosperous  force. 

While  no  base  fear  impedes  her  in  her  course. 

Religion,  richest  favor  of  the  skies. 

Stands  most  reveal'd  before  the  freeman's  eyes; 

No  shades  of  superstition  blot  the  day, 

Liberty  chases  all  that  gloom  away ; 

The  soul,  emancipated,  unoppressM, 

Free  to  prove  all  things  and  hold  fast  the  best, 

Learns  much  j  and  to  a  thousand  listening  minds,       275 


fe 


32  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Communicates  witli  joy  tlie  good  she  finds; 

Courage  in  arms,  and  ever  prompt  to  show 

His  manly  forehead  to  tlie  fiercest  foe ; 

Glorious  in  war,  hut  for  the  sake  of  peace, 

His  spirits  rising  as  his  toils  increase, 

Guards  well  what  arts  and  industry  have  won, 

And  Freedom  claims  him  for  her  first-horn  son. 

Slaves  fight  for  what  were  better  cast  away — 

The  chain  that  binds  them,  and  a  tyrant's  sway ; 

But  they  that  fight  for  freedom,  undertake  285 

The  noblest  cause  mankind  can  have  at  stake ; 

Religion,  virtue,  truth,  whatever  we  call 

A  blessing — freedom  is  the  pledge  of  all. 

O  Liberty !  the  prisoner's  pleasing  dream. 

The  poet's  Muse,  his  passion,  and  his  theme ; 

Genius  is  thine,  and  thou  art  Fancy's  nurse, 

Lost  without  thee  the  ennobling  powers  of  verse ; 

Heroic  song  from  thy  free  touch  acquires 

Its  clearest  tone,  the  rapture  it  inspires : 

Place  me  where  Winter  breathes  his  keenest  air, 

And  I  will  sing,  if  Liberty  be  there ;  296 

And  I  will  sing  at  Liberty's  dear  feet. 

In  Afric's  torrid  clime  or  India's  fiercest  heat. 

A.  Sing  where  you  please;  in  such  a  cause  I  grant 
An  English  poet's  privilege  to  rant ; 

But  is  not  Freedom — at  least,  is  not  ours 
Too  apt  to  play  the  wanton  with  her  powers. 
Grow  freakish,  and,  o'crleaping  every  mound, 
Spread  anarchy  and  terror  all  around  ? 

B.  Agreed.     But  would  you  sell  or  slay  your  horse 
For  bounding  and  curvetting  in  his  course  ? 

Or  if,  when  ridden  with  a  careless  rein,  307 

He  break  away,  and  seek  the  distant  i)lain? 

No.     His  high  mettle,  under  good  control. 

Gives  him  Olympic  speed,  and  shoots  him  to  the  goal. 

Let  Discipline  employ  her  wholesome  arts ; 
Let  magistrates  alert  perform  their  parts, 
Not  skulk  or  put  on  a  prudential  mask, 
As  if  their  duty  were  a  desperate  task ; 
Let  active  laws  apply  the  needful  curb. 
To  guard  the  peace  that  riot  would  disturb ; 
And  Liberty,  preserved  from  wild  excess, 
Shall  raise  no  feuds  for  armies  to  suppress.  318 


TABLE    TALK.  33 

When  Tumult  lately  burst  liis  prison  door, 

And  set  plebeian  thousands  in  a  roar ; 

When  lie  usurped  Authority's  just  place, 

And  dared  to  look  his  master  in  the  face ; 

When  the  rude  rabble''s  watchword  was — Destroy ! 

And  blazing  London  seem'd  a  second  Troy, — 

Liberty  blush'd,  and  hung  her  drooping  head, 

Beheld  their  progress  with  the  deepest  dread, 

BlusliVl,  that  eifects  like  these  she  should  produce. 

Worse  than  the  deeds  of  galley-slaves  broke  loose.      328 

She  loses  in  such  storms  her  very  name, 

And  fierce  Licentiousness  should  bear  the  blame. 

Incomparable  gem !  thy  worth  untold ; 
Cheap,  though  blood-bought,  and  thrown  away  when  sold ; 
May  no  foes  ravish  thee,  and  no  false  friend 
Betray  thee,  while  professing  to  defend! 
Prize  it,  ye  ministers ;  ye  monarchs,  spare ; 
Ye  patriots,  guard  it  witli  a  miser's  care ! 

A.  Patriots,  alas!  the  few  that  have  been  found 
Where  most  they  flourish,  upon  English  ground, 

The  country's  need  have  scantily  supplied ;  339 

And  the  last  left  the  scene,  when  Chatham  died. 

B.  Not  so — the  virtue  still  adorns  our  age, 
Though  the  chief  actor  died  upon  the  stage. 
In  him  Demosthenes  was  heard  again ; 
Liberty  taught  him  her  Athenian  strain; 

'  She  clothed  him  with  authority  and  awe. 
Spoke  from  his  lips,  and  in  his  looks  gave  law. 
His  speech,  his  form,  his  action,  full  of  grace, 
And  all  his  country  beaming  in  his  face, 
He  stood,  as  some  inimitable  hand 

Would  strive  to  make  a  Paul  or  Tully  stand.  350 

No  sycophant  or  slave,  that  dared  oppose 
Her  sacred  cause,  but  trembled  when  he  rose ; 
And  every  venal  stickler  for  the  yoke 
Felt  himself  crush'd  at  the  first  word  he  spoke. 
Such  men  are  raised  to  station  and  command, 
When  Providence  means  mercy  to  a  land. 
He  speaks,  and  tliey  appear ;  to  liiin  tliey  owe 
Skill  to  direct,  and  strength  to  strike  the  blow, 
To  manage  wit*li  address,  to  seize  with  power 
The  crisis  of  a  dark  decisive  hour. 
So  Gideon  earn'd  a  victory  not  his  own,  361 


I 


34  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Subserviency  his  praise,  and  that  alone. 

Poor  England !  thou  art  a  devoted  deer, 
Beset  with  every  ill  but  that  of  fear. 
The  nations  hunt ;  all  mark  thee  for  a  prey ; 
They  swann  around  thee,  and  thou  stand'st  at  bay. 
Undaunted  still,  though  wearied  and  i)erplex'd  ; 
Once  Chatham  saved  thee,  but  who  saves  thee  next  ? 
Alas!  the  tide  of  pleasure  sweeps  along 
All  that  should  be  the  boast  of  British  song. 
'Tis  not  the  wreath  that  once  adornM  thy  brow,         871 
The  prize  of  happier  times,  will  serve  thee  now. 
Our  ancestry,  a  gallant  Christian  race, 
Patterns  of  every  virtue,  every  grace, 
ConfessM  a  God ;  they  kneel'd  before  they  fought, 
And  praised  him  in  the  victories  he  wrought. 
Now  from  the  dust  of  ancient  days  bring  forth 
Their  sober  zeal,  integrity,  and  worth; 
Courage,  ungraced  by  these,  affronts  the  skies. 
Is  but  the  fire  without  the  sacrifice. 
The  stream  that  feeds  the  wellspring  of  the  heart 
Not  more  invigorates  life's  noblest  part,  382 

Than  virtue  quickens  with  a  warmth  divine 
The  powers  that  sin  has  brought  to  a  decline. 

A.  The  inestimable  estimate  of  Brown 
Rose  like  a  paper  kite,  and  charmM  the  town ; 
But  measures,  planned  and  executed  well. 
Shifted  the  wind  that  raised  it,  and  it  fell. 

He  trod  the  very  self-same  ground  you  tread. 
And  victory  refuted  all  he  said. 

B.  And  yet  his  judgment  was  not  framed  amiss ; 
Its  error,  if  it  err'd,  was  merely  this — 

He  tliought  the  dying  hour  already  come,  893 

And  a  complete  recovery  struck  him  dumb. 

But  that  eflfeminacy,  folly,  lust. 
Enervate  and  enfeeble,  and  needs  must ; 
And  that  a  nation  shamefully  debased 
AVill  be  despised  and  trampled  on  at  last. 
Unless  sweet  penitence  her  powers  renew, 
]s  truth,  if  history  itself  be  true. 
There  is  a  time,  and  Justice  marks  the  date. 
For  long-forbearing  clemency  to  wait ; 
That  hour  elapsed,  the  incurable  revolt 
Is  puuisli'd,  and  down  comes  the  thunderbolt.  404 


TABLE    TALK.  35 

If  Mercy  then  put  b}^  the  threatening  blow, 

Must  she  perform  the  same  kind  office  now  ? 

May  she !  and  if  offended  Heaven  be  still 

Accessible,  and  prayer  prevail,  she  will. 

'Tis  not,  however,  insolence  and  noise, 

The  tempest  of  tumultuary  joys, 

Nor  is  it  yet  despondence  and  dismay 

Will  win  her  visits  or  engage  her  stay ; 

Prayer  only,  and  the  penitential  tear. 

Can  call  her  smiling  down,  and  fix  her  Iiere.  414 

But  when  a  country  (one  that  I  could  name) 
In  prostitution  sinks  the  sense  of  shame ; 
When  infamous  Venality,  grown  bold, 
Writes  on  his  bosom.  To  le  let  or  sold ; 
When  Perjury,  that  Heaven-defying  vice. 
Sells  oaths  by  tale,  and  at  the  lowest  price. 
Stamps  God's  own  name  upon  a  lie  just  made, 
To  turn  a  penny  in  the  way  of  trade ; 
When  Avarice  starves  (and  never  liicles  his  face) 
Two  or  three  millions  of  the  human  race. 
And  not  a  tongue  inquires  how,  where,  or  when,        425 
Though  conscience  will  have  twinges  now  and  then  ; 
When  profanation  of  the  sacred  cause 
In  all  its  parts,  times,  ministry,  and  laws, 
Bespeaks  a  land,  once  Christian,  fallen  and  lost, 
In  all  that  wars  against  that  title  most: 
What  follows  next  let  cities  of  great  name, 
And  regions  long  since  desolate,  proclaim ; 
Nineveh,  Babylon,  and  ancient  Rome, 
Speak  to  the  present  times,  and  times  to  come ; 
They  cry  aloud  in  every  careless  ear, 
"Stop,  while  ye  may;  suspend  your  mad  career  I       436 
Oh,  learn  from  our  example  and  our  fate, — 
Learn  wisdom  and  repentance  ere  too  late!" 

Not  only  Vice  disposes  and  prepares 
The  mind  that  slumbers  sweetly  in  her  snares, 
To  stoop  to  Tyranny's  usurp'd  command, 
And  bend  her  polish \1  neck  beneath  his  Jiand 
(x\  dire  eifect,  by  one  of  Nature's  laws 
IJnchangeably  connected  with  its  cause); 
But  Providence  himself  will  intervene, 
^^   To  throw  his  dark  displeasure  o'er  the  scenCc 


3G  cowper's  poetical  works. 

What  burns  at  home,  or  threatens  from  afar ; 

Nature  in  arms,  her  elements  at  strife, 

The  storms  tliat  overset  the  joys  of  hfe. 

Are  but  his  rods  to  scourge  a  gnilty  hiiul, 

And  waste  it  at  tlie  bidding  of  liis  hand. 

He  gives  the  word,  and  mutiny  soon  roars    . 

In  all  her  gates,  and  shakes  her  distant  sliores ; 

The  standards  of  all  nations  are  unfurl'd  ; 

She  has  one  foe,  and  tliat  one  foe  the  world. 

And  if  he  doom  that  people  with  a  frown,  457 

And  mark  them  with  the  seal  of  wrath  pressed  down, 

Obduracy  takes  place ;  callous  and  tough. 

The  reprobated  race  grows  judgment-proof; 

Earth  shakes  beneath  them,  and  heaven  roars  above^ 

But  nothing  scares  them  from  the  course  they  love; 

To  the  lascivious  pipe  and  w^anton  song. 

That  charm  dowm  fear,  they  frolic  it  along, 

"With  mad  rapidity  and  unconcern, 

Down  to  the  gulf  from  which  is  no  return. 

They  trust  in  navies,  and  their  navies  fail — 

God's  curse  can  cast  away  ten  thousand  sail ;  468 

They  trust  in  armies,  and  their  courage  dies ; 

In  wisdom,  wealtlj,  in  fortune,  and  in  lies ; 

But  all  they  trust  in  withers,  as  it  must, 

"When  He  commands  in  whom  they  place  no  trusr. 

Vengeance  at  last  pours  down  upon  tlieir  coast 

A  long  despised,  but  now  victorious,  host ; 

Tyranny  sends  the  chain  that  must  abridge 

The  noble  sweep  of  all  their  privilege. 

Gives  liberty  the  last,  the  mortal  shock, 

Slips  the  slave's  collar  on,  and  snaps  the  lock. 

A.  Such  lofty  strains  embellish  what  you  teach,      479 
Mean  you  to  prophesy,  or  but  to  preach  ? 

B.  I  know  the  mind  that  feels  indeed  the  fire 
The  Muse  imparts,  and  can  command  the  lyre, 
Acts  with  a  force,  and  kindles  with  a  zeal, 
AVhate'er  the  theme,  that  others  never  feel. 

If  human  woes  her  soft  attention  claim, 

A  tender  sympathy  pervades  the  frame, 

She  pours  a  sensibility  divine 

Along  the  nerve  of  every  feeling  line. 

But  if  a  deed  not  tamely  to  be  borne 

Fire  indignation  and  a  sense  of  scorn,  490  ■ 


VT. 


I 


TABLE    TALK.  37 

The  strings  are  swept  with  such  a  power,  so  loud, 

The  storm  of  music  shakes  the  astonisli'd  crowd. 

So,  when  remote  futurity  is  brought 

Before  the  keen  inquiry  of  her  tliought, 

A  terrible  sagacity  informs 

The  poet's  heart ;  he  looks  to  distant  storms, 

'He  hears  the  thunder  ere  the  tem])est  lowers, 

And,  armVl  with  strength  surpassing  human  powers, 

Seizes  events  as  yet  unknown  to  man, 

And  darts  his  soul  into  the  dawning  })]an.  500 

Hence,  in  a  Roman  mouth,  the  graceful  name 

Of  prophet  and  of  poet  was  the  same ; 

Hence  British  poets  too  tlie  i)riesthood  shared, 

And  every  liallowVl  Druid  was  a  bard. 

But  no  pr()i)hetic  fires  to  me  belong, 

I  play  with  syllables,  and  sport  in  song. 

A.  At  Westminster,  wliere  little  poets  strive 
To  set  a  distich  upon  six  and  five, 
AVJiere  Discipline  helps  opening  buds  of  sense, 
And  makes  his  pu])ils  proud  with  silver  pence, 
1  was  a  poet  too :  but  modern  taste  511 
Is  so  refined,  and  delicate,  and  chaste. 
That  verse,  whatever  fire  the  fancy  warms, 
Without  a  creamy  smoothness  has  no  charms. 
Thus,  all  success  depending  on  an  ear, 
And  thinking  I  might  purchase  it  too  dear, 
If  sentiment  were  sacrificed  to  sound, 
And  truth  cut  short  to  make  a  period  round, 
I  judged  a  man  of  sense  could  scarce  do  worse 
Than  caper  in  the  morris-dance  of  verse. 

B.  Thus  reputation  is  a  spur  to  wMt, 
And  some  wits  flag  through  fear  of  losing  it.  522 
Give  me  the  line  that  ploughs  its  stately  course 
Like  a  j)roud  swan,  conquering  the  stream  by  force; 
That,  like  some  cottage  beauty,  strikes  the  lieart, 
Quite  unindebted  to  the  tricks  of  art. 
AVhen  labor  and  when  dulness,  club  in  hand, 
Like  the  two  figures  at  St.  Dunstan's  stand, 
Beating  alternately,  in  measured  time. 
The  clockwork  tintinnabulum  of  rhyme, 
Exact  and  regular  the  sounds  will  be, 
But  such  mere  quarter-strokes  are  not  for  me. 


38  cowfer's  poetical  wokks. 

To  him  wlio  strains  liis  all  into  a  song, 

Perhaps  some  bonny  Caledonian  air, 

All  hirks  and  braes,  though  he  was  never  there ; 

Or,  having  ivhelpM  a  ])rologue  with  great  pains, 

Feels  himself  spent,  and  fumbles  for  his  brains ; 

A  prologue  interdasliM  with  many  a  stroke — 

An  art  contrived  to  advertise  a  joke. 

So  that  the  jest  is  clearly  to  be  seen. 

Not  in  tlie  words — but  in  the  gap  between; 

Manner  is  all  in  all,  whatever  is  writ,  543 

The  substitute  for  genius,  sense,  and  wit. 

To  dally  much  with  subjects  mean  and  low, 
Proves  that  the  mind  is  weak,  or  makes  it  so. 
Neglected  talents  rust  into  decay. 
And  every  effort  ends  in  pushpin  play. 
The  man  that  means  success,  should  soar  above 
A  soldier's  feather,  or  a  lady's  glove ; 
Else,  summoning  the  Muse  to  such  a  theme, 
The  fruit  of  all  her  labor  is  whipp'd  cream. 
As  if  an  eagle  flew  aloft,  and  then — 
Stooped  from  its  highest  pitch  to  pounce  a  wren.        554 
As  if  the  poet,  purposing  to  wed. 
Should  carve  himself  a  wife  in  gingerbread. 

Ages  elapsed  ere  Homer's  lamp  appeared. 
And  ages  ere  the  Mantuan  swan  was  heard ; 
To  carry  nature  lengtlis  unknown  before. 
To  give  a  Milton  birth,  ask'd  ages  more. 
Tims  genius  rose  and  set  at  ordered  times, 
And  shot  a  dayspring  into  distant  climes, 
Ennobling  every  region  that  he  chose ; 
lie  sunk  in  Greece,  in  Italy  he  rose. 
And,  tedious  years  of  Gothic  darkness  past,  565  i 

Emerged  all  splendor  in  our  isle  at  last. 
Thus  lovely  halcyons  dive  into  the  main. 
Then  show  far  off  their  shining  plumes  again. 

A.  Is  genius  only  found  in  epic  lays? 
Prove  this,  and  forfeit  all  pretence  to  praise. 
Make  their  heroic  powers  your  own  at  once, 
Or  candidly  confess  yourself  a  dunce. 

B.  These  were  the  chief;  each  interval  of  night 
Was  graced  with  niany  an  undulating  light. 
In  less  illu^^trious  bards  his  beauty  shone 
A  nicteur  or  a  star ;  in  these,  the  sun.  576 


TABLE   TALK.  30 

The  nightingale  may  claim  the  topmost  bough, 
While  the  poor  grasshopper  must  chirp  below. 
Like  liim  unnoticed,  I,  and  siich  as  I, 
Spread  little  wings,  and  rather  skip  than  fly; 
PerchM  on  the  meagre  produce  of  the  land, 
An  ell  or  two  of  prospect  we  connnand  ; 
But  never  peep  beyond  the  thorny  bound, 
Or  oaken  fence,  that  hems  tlie  paddock  round. 

In  Eden,  ere  yet  innocence  of  heart 
Had  faded,  poetry  was  not  an  art ;  586 

Language — above  all  teaching,  or  if  taught, 
Only  by  gratitude  and  glowing  thought, 
Elegant  as  simplicity,  and  warm 
As  ecstasy,  unmanacled  by  form, 
INTot  promi>ted,  as  in  our  degenerate  days. 
By  low  ambition  and  the  thirst  of  praise — 
"Was  natural  as  is  tlie  flowing  stream. 
And  yet  magnificent, — a  God  the  tlieme! 
That  theme  on  earth  exhausted,  though  above 
'Tis  found  as  everlasting  as  his  love, 
Man  lavished  all  his  thoughts  on  human  things —        597 
The  feats  of  heroes  and  tlie  wrath  of  kings; 
But  still,  wliile  virtue  kindled  his  delight. 
The  song  was  moral,  and  so  far  was  right. 
'Twas  thus  till  Luxury  seduced  the  mind 
To  joys  less  innocent,  as  less  refined ; 
Then  Genius  danced  a  bacchanal,  he  crownVl 
The  brimming  goblet,  seized  the  thyrsus,  bound 
His  brows  with  ivy,  rush'd  into  the  field 
Of  wild  imagination,  and  there  reel'd, 
The  victim  of  his  own  lascivious  fires, 
And,  dizzy  with  delight,  profaned  the  sacred  wires.    608 
Anacreon,  Horace,  i)lay'd  in  Greece  and  Rome 
Tliis  bedlam  part ;  and  others  nearer  home. 
When  Cromwell  fought  for  power,  and  while  he  reign'd 
Tlie  proud  protector  of  the  power  he  gaiiiM, 
Jvcligion,  harsh,  intolerant,  austere. 
Parent  of  manners  like  herself  severe. 
Drew  a  rough  copy  of  tlie  Christian  face 
Without  the  smile,  the  sweetness,  or  the  grace; 
The  dark  and  sullen  humor  of  the  time 
Judged  every  effort  of  the  Muse  a  crime ; 
Yerse,  in  the  finest  mould  of  fancy  cast,  619 


■ 


40  cowper's  poetical  w-orks. 

Was  lumber  in  an  age  so  void  of  taste. 
But  when  the  second  Charles  assumed  the  sway, 
And  arts  revived  beneath  a  softer  day, 
Then,  like  a  bow  long  forced  into  a  curve, 
The  mind,  released  from  too  constrainM  a  nerve, 
Flew  to  its  first  position  with  a  spring. 
That  made  the  vaulted  roofs  of  Pleasure  ring. 
His  court,  the  dissolute  and  hateful  school 
Of  wantonness,  where  vice  was  taught  by  rule, 
Swarm'd  with  a  scribbling  herd,  as  deep  inlaid 
With  brutal  lust  as  ever  Circe  made. 
From  these  a  long  succession,  in  the  rage 
Of  rank  obscenity,  debauched  their  age; 
Nor  ceased  till,  ever  anxious  to  redress 
The  abuses  of  her  sacred  charge,  the  Press, 
The  Muse  instructed  a  well -nurtured  train 
Of  abler  votaries  to  cleanse  the  stain. 
And  claim  the  palm  for  purity  of  song. 
That  lewdness  had  usurped  and  worn  so  long. 
Then  decent  pleasantry  and  sterling  sense. 
That  neither  gave,  nor  would  endure,  offence, 
WhippVl  out  of  sight,  with  satire  just  and  keen. 
The  puppy  pack  that  had  defiled  the  scene. 
In  front  of  these  came  Addison.     In  him, 
Humor  in  holiday  and  sightly  trim, 
Sublimity  and  Attic  taste,  combined 
To  polish,  furnish,  and  delight  the  mind. 
Then  Pope,  as  harmony  itself  exact. 
In  verse  well  disciplined,  complete,  compact, 
Gave  Virtue  and  Morality  a  grace. 
That,  quite  eclipsing  Pleasure's  painted  face. 
Levied  a  tax  of  wonder  and  applause, 
Even  on  the  fools  tliat  trampled  on  their  laws. 
But  he  (his  musical  finesse  was  such, 
So  nice  his  ear,  so  delicate  his  touch) 
Made  poetry  a  mere  mechanic  art; 
And  every  warbler  has  his  tune  by  heart. 
Nature  imparting  her  satiric  gift. 
Her  serious  mirtii,  to  Arbuthnot  and  Swift, 
With  droll  sobriety  they  raised  a  smile 
At  Folly's  cost,  themselves  unmoved  the  while. 
That  constellation  set,  the  world  in  vain 
Must  hope  to  look  upon  their  like  again. 


TABLE    TALK.  41 

A.  Are  we  then  left? — 

J^.  Not  wliolly  in  til e  dark  : 
AVit  now  and  then,  strnck  smartly,  shows  a  spark, 
Sufficient  to  redeem  the  modern  race 
From  total  night  and  absolute  disgrace. 
While  servile  trick  and  imitative  knack 
Confine  the  million  in  the  beaten  track, 
Perhaps  some  courser,  who  disdains  tlie  road, 
Snuffs  up  the  wind,  and  flings  himself  abroad. 

Contemporaries  all  surpassVl,  see  one,  672 

Short  his  career  indeed,  but  ably  run, — 
Churchill ;  himself  unconscious  of  his  powers, 
In  penury  consumed  his  idle  liours. 
And,  like  a  scattered  seed  at  random  sown, 
Was  left  to  spring  by  vigor  of  his  own. 
Lifted  at  length,  by  dignity  of  thought 
And  dint  of  genius,  to  an  affluent  lot, 
He  laid  his  head  in  Luxury's  soft  lap. 
And  took  too  often  there  his  easy  nap. 
If  brighter  beams  than  all  he  threw  not  forth, 
'Twas  negligence  in  him,  not  want  of  worth.  683 

Surly  and  slovenly,  and  bold  and  coarse, 
Too  proud  for  art,  and  trusting  in  mere  force. 
Spendthrift  alike  of  money  and  of  wit, 
Always  at  speed,  and  never  drawing  bit, 
He  struck  the  lyre  in  such  a  careless  mood. 
And  so  disdainVI  the  rules  he  understood, 
The  laurel  seem'd  to  wait  on  his  command ; 
He  snatchVl  it  rudely  from  the  Muses'  hand. 

Nature,  exerting  an  unwearied  power. 
Forms,  opens,  and  gives  scent  to  every  flower, 
Spreads  the  fresh  verdure  of  tlie  field,  and  leads  694 

The  dancing  Naiads  through  tlie  dewy  meads : 
She  fills  profuse  ten  thousand  little  throats 
With  music,  modulating  all  their  notes, 
And  charms  the  v/oodland  scenes  and  wilds  unknown, 
With  artless  airs  and  concerts  of  her  own  : 
But  seldom  (as  if  fearful  of  expense) 
Vouchsafes  to  man  a  poet's  just  pretence — 
Fervency,  freedom,  fluency  of  thought, 
Harmony,  strength,  words  excpiisitely  sought ; 
Fancy,  that  from  the  bow  that  spans  the  sky 
Brings  colors  dipp'd  in  heaven,  that  never  die ;  705. 


42  COWPER^S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

A  soul  exalted  above  earth,  a  mind 

Skiil'd  in  the  characters  that  form  mankind; — 

And  as  the  sun,  in  rising  beauty  dress'd, 

Ix)oks  to  the  westward  from  tlie  dappled  east, 

And  marks,  whatever  clouds  may  interpose, 

Ere  yet  his  race  begins,  its  glorious  close;    . 

An  eye  like  his  to  catch  the  distant  goal, 

Or,  ere  the  wheels  of  verse  begin  to  roll, 

Like  his  to  shed  illuminating  rays 

On  every  scene  and  subject  it  surveys, —  715 

Thus  graced,  the  man  asserts  a  poet's  name, 

And  the  world  cheerfully  admits  the  claim. 

Pity  Religion  has  so  seldom  found 
A  skilful  guide  into  poetic  ground! 
The  flowers  would  spring  Avhere'er  she  deign'd  to  stray, 
And  every  Muse  attend  her  in  her  way. 
Virtue  indeed  meets  many  a  rhyming  friend, 
And  many  a  compliment  pohtely  penn'd ; 
But,  unattired  in  that  becoming  vest 
Rehgion  weaves  for  her,  and  half  undress'd, 
Stands  in  the  desert  shivering  and  forlorn,  726 

A  wintry  figure,  like  a  withered  thorn. 
The  shelves  are  full,  all  other  themes  are  sped, 
Hackney'd  and  worn  to  the  last  flimsy  thread  ; 
Satire  has  long  since  done  his  best,  and  curst 
And  loathsome  ribaldry  has  done  his  worst; 
Fancy  has  sported  all  her  [)owers  away 
In  tales,  in  trifles,  and  in  children's  play ; 
And  'tis  the  sad  complaint,  and  almost  true, 
Whate'er  we  write,  we  bring  forth  nothing  new. 
'Twere  new  indeed  to  see  a  bard  all  Are, 
TouchVl  with  a  coal  from  Heaven,  assume  the  lyre,    737 
And  tell  the  world,  still  kindling  as  he  sung, 
"With  more  than  mortal  music  on  his  tongue, 
That  He  who  died  below  and  reigns  above. 
Inspires  the  song,  and  that  his  name  is  Love. 

For,  after  all,  if  merely  to  beguile, 
By  flowing  numbers  and  a  flowery  style. 
The  tedium  that  the  lazy  rich  endure, 
"Which  now  and  then  sweet  i)oetry  may  cure ; 
Or,  if  to  see  the  name  of  idol  self. 
Stamped  on  the  well-bound  quarto,  grace  the  shelf. 
To  float  a  bubble  on  the  breath  of  fame,  748 


TABLE    TALK.  43 

Prompt  his  endeavor,  and  engage  liis  aim, 

Debased  to  servile  purposes  ^f  pride, 

How  are  the  powers  of  genius  misa«pplied ! 

The  gift,  whose  office  is  the  Giver's  praise. 

To  trace  him  in  his  Word,  his  works,  his  ways ; 

Then  spread  the  rich  discovery,  and  invite 

Mankind  to  share  in  the  divine  dehght; 

Distorted  from  its  use  and  just  design. 

To  make  the  pitiful  possessor  shine; 

To  purchase,  at  the  fool-frequented  fair  758 

Of  vanity,  a  wreath  for  self  to  wear. 

Is  profanation  of  the  basest  kind — 

Proof  of  a  trilling  and  a  worthless  mind. 

A.  Hail,  Sternhold,  then;  and  Hopkins,  hail!  — 

U.  Amen. 
If  flattery,  folly,  lust,  employ  the  pen ; 
If  acrimony,  slander,  and  abuse, 
Give  it  a  charge  to  blacken  and  traduce; 
Though  Butler's  wit.  Pope's  numbers.  Prior's  ease, 
With  all  that  fancy  can  invent  to  please. 
Adorn  the  polish'd  periods  as  they  tall,  769 

One  madrigal  of  theu-s  is  worth  them  all. 

A.  'Twould  thin  the  ranks  of  the  poetic  tribe. 
To  dash  the  pen  through  all  "that  you  proscribe. 

B.  No  matter; — we  could  shift  when  they  were  not; 
And  should,  no  doubt,  if  they  were  all  forgot. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  ERROR. 


Si  quid  loquar  audientlum.— IIor.  Lib.  iv.  Od.  2. 


THE  APwGUMENT. 

Rise  of  error,  1— Man  endowed  with  free-will,  23— Motives  to  action,  45— Allure- 
ments of  pleasure,  57— Music,  63— The  chase^  82— Such  amusements  uusuited  to 
the  clerical  character,  96— Occiduus,  an  inconsistent  pastor,  124— His  pernicious 
example,  142— Sabbath  desecration,  152— Cards  and  dancing,  1G9— The  trifler,  as 
well  as  .the  drunkard,  condemned,  199— Gluttony,  209— Sensual  pleasures,  225— 
Lawful  and  virtuous  pleasures,  243— pleasures  in  excess  pernicious,  269— The  pen 
a  dangerous  implement,  301— Corrupting  tendency  of  some  works  of  imagina- 
tion, 307 — Apostrophe  to  Chesterfield,  335— Importance  of  early  education,  353 — 
Foreign  travel,  369— Its  effects,  401— Accomplishments  take  place  of  virtue,  417— 
Qualities  required  in  the  critic  of  the  sacred  volume,  452 — Invocation  to  the  press, 
460— Effects  of  enthusiasm,  470— Partiality  of  authors  for  their  literary  progeny, 
516— The  dunce  impatient  of  contradiction,  536— Faults  of  the  life  and  errors  of  the 
understanding  reciprocally  produce  each  other,  564— Evil  habits  unrestrained  lead 
to  destruction,  580. 

SiXG,  Muse  (if  such  a  theme,  so  dark,  so  long, 

May  find  a  Muse  to  grace  it  with  a  jsong), 

By  what  unseen  and  unsuspected  arts 

The  serpent  Error  twines  round  human  hearts  ; 

Tell  where  she  lurks,  beneath  what  llow^ery  shades,    5 

That  not  a  glimpse  of  genuine  light  pervades, 

The  poisonous,  black,  insinuating  worm 

Successfully  conceals  her  loathsome  form. 

Take,  if  ye  can,  ye  careless  and  supine ! 

Counsel  and  caution  from  a  voice  like  mine ; 

Truths,  that  the  theorist  could  never  reach, 

And  observation  taught  me,  I  would  teach. 

Not  all  whose  eloquence  the  fancy  fills. 
Musical  as  the  chime  of  tinkling  rills. 
Weak  to  perform,  though  mighty  to  pretend, 
Can  trace  her  mazy  windings  to  their  end;  16 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  45 

Discern  the  fraud  beneath  the  specious  hire, 
Prevent  the  danger,  or  prescribe  the  cure. 
The  clear  harangue,  and  cold  as  it  is  clear, 
Tails  soporific  on  the  listless  ear ; 
Like  quicksilver,  the  rhetoric  they  display 
Shines  as  it  runs,  but,  grasp'd  at,  slips  away. 

Placed  for  his  trial  on  this  busthng  stage, 
From  thoughtless  youth  to  ruminating  age. 
Free  in  his  will  to  choose  or  to  refuse, 
Man  may  improve  the  crisis,  or  abuse :  26 

Else,  on  the  fatalist's  unrighteous  plan. 
Say,  to  what  bar  amenable  were  man  ? 
With  naught  in  charge,  he  could  betray  no  trust;     * 
And,  if  he  fell,  would  fall  because  he  must ; 
If  love  reward  liim,  or  if  vengeance  strike. 
His  recompense  in  both  unjust  alike. 
Divine  authority  within  his  breast 
Brings  every  thought,  word,  action,  to  the  test; 
Warns  him  or  prompts,  approves  him  or  restrains, 
As  reason,  or  as  passion,  takes  tlie  reins. 
Heaven  from  above,  and  conscience  from  within,  37 

Cries  in  his  startled  ear — iVbstain  from  sin ! 
The  world  around  solicits  his  desire. 
And  kindles  in  his  soul  a  treacherous  fire ; 
While,  all  his  purposes  and  steps  to  guard. 
Peace  follows  virtue  as  its  sure  reward ; 
And  Pleasure  brings  as  surely  in  her  train 
Kemorse,  and  sorrow,  and  vindictive  pain. 

Man,  thus  endued  with  an  elective  voice. 
Must  be  supplied  with  objects  of  his  choice. 
Where'er  he  turns,  enjoyment  and  delight. 
Or  present,  or  in  prospect,  meet  his  sight :  48 

These  open  on  the  spot  their  honey'd  store ; 
Those  call  him  loudly  to  pursuit  of  more. 
His  unexhausted  mine  the  sordid  vice 
Avarice  shows,  and  virtue  is  the  price. 
Here  various  motives  his  ambition  raise — 
Power,  pomp,  and  splendor,  and  the  thirst  of  praise ; 
There  Beauty  woos  him  with  expanded  arms; 
Even  Bacchanalian  madness  has  its  charms. 

Nor  these  alone,  whose  pleasures  less  refined. 
Might  well  alarm  the  most  unguarded  mind. 
Seek  to  supplant  his  inexperienced  youth,  59 


46  COWPEIl's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Or  lead  him  devious  from  the  path  of  truth, 

Hourly  allurements  on  his  passions  press, 

Safe  in  themselves,  but  dangerous  in  the  excess. 

Hark !  how  it  floats  upon  the  dewy  air; — 
Oh  what  a  dying,  dying  close  was  there ! 
'Tis  harmony  from  yon  sequestered  boAver, 
Sweet  harmony,  that  soothes  the  midnight  hour! 
Loiig  ere  the  charioteer  of  day  had  run 
His  morning  course,  the  enchantment  was  begun; 
And  he  shall  gild  yon  mountain's  height  again,  CO 

Ere  yet  the  pleasing  toil  becomes  a  pain. 

Is  this  the  rugged  patlj,  the  steep  ascent. 
That  virtue  points  to  ?     Can  a  life  thus  spent 
Lead  to  the  bliss  she  promises  the  wise. 
Detach  the  soul  from  earth,  and  speed  her  to  the  skies? 
Ye  devotees  to  your  adored  employ. 
Enthusiasts,  drunk  with  an  uTireal  joy. 
Love  makes  the  music  of  the  blest  above, 
Heaven's  harmony  is  universal  love; 
And  earthly  sounds,  though  sweet  and  well  combined, 
And  lenient  as  soft  opiates  to  the  mind,  80 

Leave  vice  and  folly  unsubdued  behind. 

Gray  dawn  ai)pears  ;  the  sportsman  and  his  train 
Speckle  the  bosom  of  the  distant  plain ; 
'Tis  he,  the  Nimrod  of  the  neighboring  lairs. 
Save  that  liis  scent  is  less  acute  than  theirs, 
For  persevering  chase,  and  headlong  leaps, 
True  beagle  as  the  stanchest  hound  he  keeps. 
Charged  with  the  folly  of  his  life's  mad  scene. 
He  takes  oftence,  and  wonders  what  you  mean ; 
The  joy,  the  danger,  and  the  toil  o'erpays ; 
'Tis  exercise,  and  health,  and  length  of  days.  91 

Again  impetuous  to  the  field  he  flies, 
Leaps  every  fence  but  one — there  falls,  and  dies ; 
Like  a  slain  deer,  the  tumbril  brings  him  home, 
Unmiss'd  but  by  his  dogs  and  by  his  groom. 

Ye  clergy,  while  your  orbit  is  your  place. 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  stars  of  human  race, — 
But  if  eccentric  ye  forsake  your  sphere. 
Prodigies  ominous,  and  view'd  with  fear ; 
The  comet's  baneful  influence  is  a  dream, 
Yours  real,  and  pernicious  in  the  extreme. 
What  then!  are  appetites  and  lusts  laid  down  102 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  47 

With  the  same  ease  that  man  puts  on  his  gown? 

Will  avarice  and  concupiscence  give  place, 

Chann'd  by  the  sounds — your  Reverence,  or  your  Grace  ? 

No.     But  his  own  engagement  binds  him  fast ; 

Or,  if  it  does  not,  brands  him  to  the  last^ 

What  atheists  call  him — a  designing  knave, 

A  mere  church  juggler,  hypocrite,  and  slave. 

Oh,  laugh  or  mourn  with  me  the  rueful  jest, 

A  cassock'd  huntsman  and  a  fiddling  priest ! 

He  from  Italian  songsters  takes  his  cue  :  112 

Set  Paul  to  music,  he  shall  quote  him  too. 

He  takes  the  field,  the  master  of  the  pack 

Cries,  ^' Well  done.  Saint!"  and  claps  him  on  the  back. 

Is  this  the  path  of  sanctity  ?     Is  this 

To  stand  a  waymark  in  the  road  to  bliss  ? 

Himself  a  Avanderer  from  the  narrow  way. 

His  silly  sheep,  what  wonder  if  they  stray  ? 

Go,  cast  your  orders  at  your  Bishop's  feet. 

Send  your  dishonor\l  gown  to  Monmouth-street ! 

The  sacred  function,  in  your  hands  is  made. 

Sad  sacrilege!  no  function,  but  a  trade!  123 

Occiduus  is  a  pastor  of  renown ; 
When  he  has  pray'd  and  preach'd  thq  Sabbath  down, 
With  wire  and  catgut  he  concludes  the  day, 
Quavering  and  semiquavering  care  away. 
The  full  concerto  swells  upon  your  ear ; 
All  elbows  shake.     Look  in,  and  you  would  swear 
The  Babylonian  tyrant  with  a  nod 
Had  summoned  them  to  serve  his  golden  god. 
So  well  that  thought  the  employment  seems  to  suit, 
Psaltery  and  sackbut,  dulcimer  and  flute. 
Oh  fie!  'tis  evangelical  and  pure :  134 

Observe  each  face,  how  sober  and  demure ! 
Ecstasy  sets  her  stamp  on  every  mien, 
Chins  fallen,  and  not  an  eyeball  to  be  seen. 
Still  I  -insist,  though  music  heretofore 
Has  charm'd  me  much,  not  even  Occiduus  more, 
Love,  joy,  and  peace  make  harmony  more  meet 
For  Sabbath  evenings,  and  perhaps  as  sweet. 

I    Will  not  the  sickliest  sheep  of  every  flock 
Resort  to  this  example  as  a  rock ; 
There  stand  and  justify  the  foul  abuse 


48  cowper's  poetical  works. 

If  apostolic  gravity  be  free  ^ 

To  play  the  fool  on  Sundays,  why  not  we? 

If  he  the  tinkling  harpsichord  regards 

As  inoffensive,  what  offence  in  cards? 

Strike  up  the  fiddles,  let  us  all  be  gay ! 

Laymen  have  leave  to  dance,  if  parsons  play. 

O  Italy  ! — thy  Sabbaths  will  be  soon 
Our  Sabbaths,  closed  with  mummery  and  buffoon. 
Preaching  and  pranks  Avill  share  the  motley  scene, 
Ours  parceird  out,  as  thine  have  ever  been,  155 

God's  worship  and  the  mountebank  between. 
What  says  the  prophet  ? — Let  that  day  be  blest 
With  holiness  and  consecrated  rest. 
Pastime  and  business  both  it  should  exclude, 
And  bar  the  door  the  moment  they  intrude ; 
Nobly  distinguishVl  above  all  the  six. 
By  deeds  in  which  the  world  must  never  mix. 
Hear  him  again.     lie  calls  it  a  delight, 
A  day  of  luxury,  observed  aright. 
When  the  glad  soul  is  made  Heaven's  welcome  guest, 
Sits  banqueting,  and  God  provides  the  feast.  16G 

But  triflers  are  engaged,  and  cannot  come ; 
Their  answer  to  .the  call  is — Not  at  home. 

Oh  the  dear  pleasures  of  the  velvet  plain, 
The  painted  tablets,  dealt  and  dealt  again ! 
Cards,  with  what  rapture,  and  the  polish'd  die, 
The  yawning  chasm  of  indolence  supply ! 
Then  to  the  dance,  and  make  the  sober  moon 
Witness  of  joys  that  shun  the  sight  of  noon. 
Blame,  cynic,  if  you  can,  quadrille  or  ball, 
The  snug  close  party,  or  the  splendid  hall, 
Where  Night,  down  stooping  from  her  ebon  throne,    177 
Views  constellations  brighter  than  her  own. 
'Tis  innocent,  and  harmless,  and  refined, 
The  balm  of  care,  Elysium  of  the  mind. 
Innocent!     Oh,  if  venerable  Time 
Slain  at  the  foot  of  Pleasure,  be  no  crime. 
Then,  with  liis  silver  beard  and  magic  wand, 
Let  Comus  rise  Archbishop  of  the  land. 
Let  him  your  rubric  and  your  feasts  prescribe. 
Grand  metropolitan  of  all  the  tribe. 

Of  manners  rough,  and  coarse  athletic  cast, 
The  rank  debauch  suits  Clodio's  filthy  taste.  188 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  49 

Kufillus,  exquisitely  formVl  by  rule, 

Kot  of  the  moral,  but  the  dancing  school, 

"Wonders  at  Clodio's  folhes,  in  a  tone 

As  tragical  as  others  at  his  own. 

He  cannot  drink  five  bottles,  billv  the  score. 

Then  kill  a  constable,  and  drink  five  more ; 

But  he  can  draw  a  pattern,  make  a  tart, 

And  has  the  ladies'  etiquette  by  heart. 

Go,  fool,  and,  arm  in  arm  with  Clodio,  plead 

Your  cause  before  a  bar  you  little  dread ;  198 

But  know,  the  law  that  bids  the  drunkard  die 

Is  far  too  just  to  pass  the  trifler  by. 

Both  baby-featured,  and  of  infant  size, 

View'd  from  a  distance,  and  with  heedless  eyes, 

Folly  and  Innocence  are  so  alike. 

The  difference,  though  essential,  fails  to  strike. 

Yet  Folly  ever  has  a  vacant  stare, 

A  simpering  countenance,  and  a  trifling  air ; 

But  Innocence,  sedate,  serene,  erect. 

Delights  us,  by  engaging  our  respect. 

Man,  Nature's  guest  by  invitation  sweet,  209 

Receives  from  her  both  appetite  and  treat ; 
But,  if  he  play  the  glutton  and  exceed, 
His  benefactress  blushes  at  the  deed. 
For  Nature,  nice,  as  liberal  to  dispense, 
Made  nothing  but  a  brute  tlie  slave  of  sense. 
Daniel  ate  pulse  by  choice — example  rare ! 
Heaven  bless'd  the  youth,  and  made  him  fresh  and  fair. 
Gorgonius  sits,  abdominous  and  wan. 
Like  a  fat  squab  upon  a  Chinese  fan  : 
He  snuflfe  far  off  the  anticipated  joy ; 
Turtle  and  venison  all  his  thoughts  employ ;  220 

Prepares  for  meals  as  jockeys  take  a  sweat, 
Oh,  nauseous! — an  emetic  for  a  whet! — 
"Will  Providence  overlook  the  wasted  good? 
Temperance  Avere  no  virtue  if  he  could. 

That  pleasures,  therefore,  or  what  such  we  call, 
Are  hurtful,  is  a  truth  confessed  by  alL 
And  some,  that  seem  to  tlireaten  virtue  less, 
Still  hurtftd  in  the  abuse,  or  by  the  excess. 

Is  man  then  only  for  his  torment  placed, 
The  centre  of  deliglits  he  may  not  taste  ? 
Like  fabled  Tantalus,  condemn'd  to  hear  231 


I 


50  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  precious  stream  still  purling  in  his  ear, 

Lip-deep  in  what  lie  longs  for,  and  yet  curst 

With  prohibition  and  perpetual  thirst? 

[N'o,  w^rangler — destitute  of  shame  and  sense ! 

The  precept  that  enjoins  him  abstinence. 

Forbids  him  none  but  the  licentious  jo}^. 

Whose  fruit,  though  fair,  tempts  only  to  destroy. 

Remorse,  the  fatal  egg  by  Pleasure  laid 

In  every  bosom  wiiere  her  nest  is  made, 

Hatch'd  by  the  beams  of  Truth,  denies  him  rest,         241 

And  proves  a  raging  scorpion  in  his  breast. 

No  pleasure  ?     Are  domestic  comforts  dead  ? 

Are  all  the  nameless  sweets  of  friendship  fled  ? 

Has  time  worn  out,  or  fashion  put  to  shame 

Good  sense,  good  health,  good  conscience,  and  good  fame  ? 

All  these  belong  to  virtue,  and  all  prove 

That  virtue  has  a  title  to  your  love. 

Have  you  no  touch  of  pity,  that  the  poor 

Stand  starved  at  your  inhospitable  door? 

Or  if  yourself,  too  scantily  supphed. 

Need  help,  let  honest  ind-ustry  provide.  252 

Earn,  if  you  want;  if  you  abound,  impart: 

These  both  are  pleasures  to  the  feeling  heart. 

No  pleasure?     Has  some  sickly  eastern  waste 

Sent  us  a  wind  to  parch  us  at  a  blast  ? 

Can  British  Paradise  no  scenes  afford 

To  please  lier  sated  and  indifferent  lord? 

Are  sweet  philosophy's  enjoyments  run 

Quite  to  the  lees?     And  has  religion  none? 

Brutes  capable  would  tell  you  'tis  a  lie. 

And  judge  you  from  the  kennel  and  the  sty. 

Delights  like  these,  ye  sensual  and  profane,  203 

Ye  are  bid,  begg'd,  besought  to  entertain ; 

Caird  to  these  crystal  streams,  do  ye  turn  off 

Obscene  to  swill  and  swallow  at  a  trough  ? 

Envy  the  beast,  then,  on  whom  Heaven  bestows 

Your  pleasures,  with  no  curses  in  the  close! 

Pleasure  admitted  in  undue  degree 
Enslaves  the  will,  nor  leaves  the  judgment  free. 
'Tis  not  alone  the  grape's  enticing  juice 
Unnerves  the  moral  powers,  and  mars  their  use ; 
Ambition,  avarice,  and  the  lust  of  fame, 
And  woman,  lovely  woman,  does  the  same.  274 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  51 

The  heart,  snrrender'd  to  the  ruling  powei 
Of  some  imgovern'd  passion  every  hour, 
Finds  by  degrees  the  truths  that  once  bore  sway, 
And  all  their  deep  impressions,  wear  away ; 
So  coin  grows  smooth,  in  traffic  current  pass'd. 
Till  Ca3sar's  image  is  elTaced  at  last. 

The  breach,  though  small  at  first,  soon  opening  wide. 
In  rushes  folly  with  a  full-moon  tide ; 
Then  welcome  errors,  of  whatever  size, 
To  justify  it  by  a  thousand  lies.  284 

As  creeping  ivy  clings  to  Avood  or  stone, 
And  hides  the  ruin  that  it  feeds  upon ; 
So  sophistry  cleaves  close  to  and  protects 
Sin's  rotten  trunk,  concealing  its  defects. 
Mortals,  whose  pleasures  are  their  only  care, 
First  wish  to  be  imposed  on,  and  then  are ; 
And,  lest  the  fulsome  artifice  should  fail, 
Themselves  w^ill  hide  its  coarseness  with  a  veil. 
Not  more  industrious  are  the  just  and  true 
To  give  to  Virtue  what  is  Virtue's  due — 
The  praise  of  wisdom,  comeliness,  and  worth,  295 

And  call  her  charms  to  public  notice  forth — 
Than  Vice's  mean  and  disingenuous  race 
To  hide  the  shocking  features  of  her  face : 
Her  form  with  dress  and  lotion  they  repair, 
Then  kiss  their  idol,  and  pronounce  her  fair. 

The  sacred  implement  I  now^  employ 
Might  prove  a  mischief,  or  at  best  a  toy; 
A  trifle,  if  it  move  but  to  amuse; 
But,  if  to  wrong  the  judgment  and  abuse. 
Worse  than  a  poniard  in  the  basest  hand. 
It  stabs  at  once  the  morals  of  a  land.  306 

Ye  writers  of  what  none  with  safety  reads, 
Footing  it  in  the  dance  that  Fancy  leads ; 
Ye  novelists,  who  mar  what  ye  would  mend, 
Snivelling  and  drivelling  folly  without  end ; 
Whose  corresponding  misses  fill  the  ream 
With  sentimental  frippery  and  dream, 
Caught  in  a  delicate  soft  silken  net 
By  some  lewd  earl,  or  rake-hell  baronet ; 
Ye  pimps,  Avho,  under  virtue's  fair  pretence, 
Steal  to  the  closet  of  young  innocence. 
And  teach  her,  inexperienced  yet  and  green,  317 


52  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  scribble  as  you  scribbled  at  fifteen ; 

Who,  kindling  a  combustion  of  desire, 

With  some  cold  moral  think  to  quench  the  fire ; 

Though  all  your  engineering  proves  in  vain. 

The  dribbling  stream  ne'er  puts  it  out  again — 

Oh  that  a  verse  had  power,  and  could  command 

Far,  far  away,  these  flesh-flies  of  the  land. 

Who  fasten  without  mercy  on  the  fair, 

And  suck,  and  leave  a  craving  maggot  there ! 

Howe'er  disguised  the  inflammatory  tale,  327 

And  cover'd  with  a  fine-spun  specious  veil. 

Such  writers,  and  such  readers,  owe  the  gust 

And  relish  of  their  pleasure  all  to  lust. 

But  the  Muse,  eagle-pinionVl,  has  in  view 
A  quarry  more  important  still  than  you ; 
Down,  down  the  wind  she  SAvims,  and  sails  away, 
Now  stoops  upon  it,  and  now  grasps  the  prey. 

Petronius  ! ,  all  the  Muses  weep  for  tliee  ; 
But  every  tear  shall  scald  thy  memory. 
The  Graces  too,  while  Virtue  at  their  shrine 
Lay  bleeding  under  that  soft  hand  of  thine,  838 

Felt  each  a  mortal  stab  in  her  own  breast, 
Abhorr'd  the  sacrifice,  and  cursed  the  priest. 
Thou  polished  and  high-finish'd  foe  to  truth, 
Graybeard  corrupter  of  our  listening  youth,  * 

To  purge  and  skim  away  the  filth  of  vice. 
That,  so  refined,  it  might  the  more  entice, 
Then  pour  it  on  the  morals  of  thy  son. 
To  taint  his  heart,  was  worthy  of  thine  own! 
Now,  wliile  the  poison  all  high  life  pervades. 
Write,  if  thou  canst,  one  letter  from  the  shades, 
One,  and  one  only,  charge'd  with  deep  regret,  349 

That  thy  worst  part,  tliy  principles,  live  yet; 
One  sad  epistle  thence  may  cure  mankind 
Of  the  plague  spread  by  bundles  left  behind. 

'Tis  granted,  and  no  plainer  truth  appears, 
Our  most  important  are  our  earliest  years : 
The  mind,  impressible  and  soft,  with  ease 
Imbibes  and  copies  what  she  hears  and  sees. 
And  through  life's  labyrinth  liolds  fiist  the  clue 
That  Education  gives  iier,  false  or  true. 
Plants  raised  with  tenderness  are  seldom  strong; 
Man's  coltish  disposition  asks  the  thong ;  360 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  53 

And  without  discipline  the  favorite  cliild, 
Like  a  neglected  forester,  runs  wild. 
But  we,  as  if  good  qualities  would  grow 
Spontaneous,  -take  but  little  pains  to  sow; 
We  give  some  Latin  and  a  smatch  of  Greek, 
Teach  him  to  fence  and  figure  twice  a  week  ; 
And  having  done,  w^e  think,  the  best  we  can, 
Praise  his  proficiency,  and  dub  him  man. 

From  school  to  0am  or  Isis,  and  thence  home ; 
And  thence  with  all  convenient  speed  to  Eome,  870 

"With  reverend  tutor,  clad  in  habit  lay. 
To  tease  for  cash,  and  quarrel  with  all  day ; 
"With  memorandum-book  for  every  town, 
And  every  post,  and  where  tlie  chaise  broke  down ; 
His  stock,  a  few  French  phrases  got  by  heart, 
"With  much  to  learn,  but  nothing  to  impart ; 
The  youth,  obedient  to  his  sire's  commands, 
Sets  oflf  a  wanderer  into  foreign  lands. 
^Surprised  at  all  they  meet,  the  gosling  pair. 
With  awds:ward  gait,  stretch'd  neck,  and  silly  stare, 
■  Discover  huge  cathedrals  built  with  stone,  881 

And  steeples  towering  high,  much  like  our  own  ; 
But  show  peculiar  light  by  many  a  grin 
At  Popish  practices  observed  within. 

Ere  long,  some  bowing,  smirking,  smart  abbe, 
Remarks  two  loiterers  that  have  lost  their  way ; 
And,  being  always  primed  with  politesse 
For  men  of  their  appearance  and  address, 
With  much  compassion  undertakes  the  task 
To  tell  them  more  than  they  have  wit  to  ask ; 
Points  to  inscriptions  wiieresoe'er  they  tread, 
Such  as,  when  legible,  were  never  read,  392 

But  being  canker'd  now  and  half  Avorn  out. 
Craze  antiquarian  brains  with  endless  doubt: 
Some  headless  hero,  or  some  Caesar  shows — 
Defective  only  in  his  Roman  nose ; 
Exhibits  elevations,  drawings,  plans. 
Models  of  Ilerculanean  pots  and  pans ; 
And  sells  them  medals,  which,  if  neither  rare 
Nor  ancient,  will  be  so,  preserved  with  care. 

Strange  the  recital !  from  whatever  cause 
His  great  improvement  and  new  lights  he  draws. 
The  squire,  once  bashful,  is  shamefaced  no  more,        4-03 


54  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But  teems  with  powers  lie  never  felt  before : 

Whether  increased  momentum,  and  the  force 

With  which  from  clime  to  clime  he  sped  his  course 

(As  axles  sometimes  kindle  as  they  go), 

Chafed  him,  and  brought  dull  nature  to  a  glow ; 

Or  whether  clearer  skies  and  softer  air, 

That  make  Italian  flowers  so  sweet  and  fair, 

Freshening  his  lazy  spirits  as  he  ran, 

Unfolded  genially  and  spread  the  man  ; 

Eeturning,  he  proclaims,  by  many  a  grace,  413 

By  shrugs  and  strange  contortions  of  his  face, 

How  much  a  dunce  that  has  been  sent  to  roam, 

Excels  a  dunce  that  has  been  kept  at  home. 

Accomplishments  have  taken  virtue's  place, 
And  wisdom  falls  before  exterior  grace : 
*    AYe  slight  the  precious  kernel  of  the  stone, 
And  toil  to  polish  its  rough  coat  alone. 
A  just  deportment,  manners  graced  with  ease, 
Elegant  phrase,  and  figure  form'd  to  please, 
Are  qualities  that  seem  to  comprehend 
'  Whatever  parents,  guardians,  schools  intend ;  4 

Hence  an  unfurnish'd  and  a  listless  mind. 
Though  busy,  trifling ;  empty,  though  refined  ; 
Hence  all  that  interferes,  and  dares  to  clash 
With  indolence  and  luxury,  is  trash ; 
While  learning,  once  the  man's  exclusive  pride. 
Seems  verging  fast  towards  the  female  side. 
Learning  itself,  received  into  a  mind 
By  nature  weak,  or  viciously  inclined, 
Serves  but  to  lead  philosophers  astray, 
Where  children  would  with  ease  discern  the  way. 
And  of  all  arts  sagacious  dupes  invent,  4 

To  cheat  themselves  and  gain  the  world's  assent. 
The  worst  is— Scripture  warp'd  from  its  intent. 
The  carriage  bowls  along,  and  all  are  pleased, 
If  Tom  be  sober,  and  the  wheels  well  greased ; 
But  if  the  rogue  have  gone  a  cup  too  far. 
Left  out  his  linchpin,  or  forgot  his  tar. 
It  suffers  interruption  and  delay,- 
And  meets  with  hindrance  in  the  smoothest  way. 
When  some  hypothesis,  absurd  and  vain, 
Has  fill'd  with  all  its  fumes  a  critic's  brain, 
The  text  that  sorts  not  with  his  darling,  whim,  4 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  55 

Though  plain  to  others,  is  obscure  to  him. 

The  will  made  subject  to  a  lawless  force, 

All  is  irregular,  and  out  of  course ; 

And  Judgment  drunk,  and  bribed  to  lose  his  way, 

"Winks  hard,  and  talks  of  darkness  at  noonday. 

A  critic  on  the  sacred  book  should  be 
Candid  and  learned,  dispassionate  and  free ; 
Free  from  the  wayward  bias  bigots  feel, 
From  fancy's  influence,  and  intemperate  zeal : 
But  above  all  (or  let  the  wretch  refrain,  456 

Kor  touch  the  page  he  cannot  but  profane), 
Free  from  the  domineering  power  of  lust: 
A  lewd  interpreter  is  never  just. 

How  shall  I  speak  thee,  or  thy  power  address, 
Thou  god  of  our  idolatry,  the  Press? 
By  thee,  religion,  liberty,  and  laws. 
Exert  their  influence,  and  advance  their  cause; 
By  thee,  worse  plagues  than  Pharaoh's  land  befell, 
Diffused,  make  earth  the  vestibule  of  hell ; 
Thou  fountain,  at  which  drink  the  good  and  wise; 
Thou  ever-bubbling  spring  of  endless  lies ;  467 

Like  Eden's  dread  probationary  tree. 
Knowledge  of  good  and  evil  is  from  thee ! 

'No  wild  enthusiast  ever  j^et  could  rest 
Till  half  mankind  were  like  himself  possess'd. 
Philosophers,  who  darken  and  put  out 
Eternal  truth  by  everlasting  doubt ; 
Church  quacks,  Avith  passions  under  no  command, 
"Who  fill  the  world  with  doctrines  contraband ; 
Discoverers  of  they  know  not  what,  confined 
Within  no  bounds — the  blind  that  lead  the  blind  ; 
To  streams' of  popular  opinion  drawn,  478 

Deposit  in  those  shallows  all  their  spawn. 
The  wriggling  fry  soon  fill  the  creeks  around. 
Poisoning  the  waters  where  their  swarms  abound; 
Scorn'd  by  the  nobler  tenants  of  the  flood. 
Minnows  and  gudgeons  gorge  the  unwholesome  food : 
The  propagated  myriads  spread  so  fast. 
Even  Leuwenhoeck  himself  would  stand  aghast, 
Employ'd  to  calculate  the  enormous  sum. 
And  own  his  crab-computing  powers  o'ercome. 
Is  this  hyperbole  ?     The  world  well  known, 
Your  sober  thoughts  will  hardly  find  it  one.  489 


56  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Fresli  confidence  the  speculatist  takes 
From  every  hair-brain'd  proselyte  lie  makes, 
And  therefore  prints: — himself  but  half  deceived, 
Till  others  have  the  soothing  tale  believed. 
Hence  comment  after  comment,  spun  as  line 
As  bloated  spiders  draw  the  flimsy  line; 
Hence  the  same  word  that  bids  our  lusts  obey, 
Is  misapplied  to  sanctify  their  sway. 
If  stubborn  Greek  refuse  to  be  his  friend, 
Hebrew  or  Syriac  shall  be  forced  to  bend ;  499 

If  languages  and  copies  all  cry,  No  ! — 
Somebody  ])roved  it  centuries  ago. 
Like  trout  pursued,  the  critic  in  despair 
Darts  to  the  mud,  and  finds  his  safety  there. 
Women,  Avliom  custom  has  forbid  to  fly 
The  scholar's  pitch  (the  scholar  best  knows  why). 
With  all  the  simple  and  unletterM  poor. 
Admire  his  learning,  and  almost  adore. 
Whoever  errs,  the  priest  can  ne'er  be  wrong, 
AVith  such  tine  words  familiar  to  his  tongue. 

Ye  ladies!  (for,  indifferent  in  your  cause,  510 

I  should  deserve  to  forfeit  all  ai)i)lause), 
Wliatever  shocks,  or  gives  the  least  offence 
To  virtue,  delicacy,  truth,  or  sense 
(Try  the  criterion,  'tis  a  faithful  guide). 
Nor  has,  nor  can  have,  Scripture  on  its  side. 

None  but  an  author  knows  an  author's  cares, 
Or  Fancy's  fondness  for  the  child  she  bears. 
Committed  once  into  tlie  public  arms. 
The  baby  seems  to  smile  with  added  charms. 
Like  something  precious  ventured  far  from  shore, 
'Tis  valued  for  the  danger's  sake  tlie  more.  521 

He  vieAVS  it  with  complacency  supreme. 
Solicits  kind  attention  to  his  dream ; 
And  daily  more  enamor'd  of  the  cheat. 
Kneels,  and  asks  Heaven  to  bless  the  dear  deceit. 
So  one,'  whose  story  serves  at  least  to  show 
Men  loved  their  own  productions  long  ago, 
Woo'd  an  unfeeling  statue  for  his  wife, 
Nor  rested  till  the  gods  had  given  it  life. 
If  some  mere  driveller  suck  the  sugar'd  fib. 
One  that  still  needs  his  leading-string  and  bib, 
*  Pygmalion. 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  57 

And  praise  his  genius,  he  is  soon  repaid 
In  praise  applied  to  the  same  part — his  head. 
For  'tis  a  rule  that  holds  forever  true, 
Grant  nie  discernment,  and  I  grant  it  you. 

Patient  of  contradiction  as  a  child, 
Affahle,  humble,  diffident,  and  mihl, 
Such  was  Sir  Isaac,  and  such  Boyle  and  Locke: 
Your  blunderer  is  as  sturdy  as  a  rock. 
The  creature  is  so  sure  to  kick  and  bite, 
A  muleteer's  the  man  to  set  liim  right.  541 

First  Appetite  enlists  In'm  Truth's  sworn  foe. 
Then  obstinate  Self-will  contirms  him  so. 
Tell  liim  he  wanders;  that  his  error  leads 
To  fatal  ills ;  that,  though  the  path  he  treads 
Be  flowery,  and  he  see  no  cause  of  fear. 
Death  and  the  pains  of  hell  attend  him  there: 
In  vain ;  the  slave  of  arrogance  and  pride. 
He  has  no  hearing  on  the  prudent  side. 
His  still  refuted  quirks  lie  still  repeats, 
New-raised  objections  with  new  quibbles  meets ; 
Till,  sinking  in  the  quicksand  he  defends,  552 

He  dies  disputing,  and  the  contest  ends — 
But  not  the  mischiefs ;  they,  still  left  behind, 
Like  thistle-seeds,  are  sown  by  every  wind. 

Thus  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill. 
Bend  the  straight  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will, 
And,  with  a  clear  and  shining  lamp  supplied, 
First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide. 
Halting  on  crutches  of  unequal  size. 
One  leg  by  truth  supported,  one  by  lies. 
They  sidle  to  the  goal  with  awkward  pace, 
Secure  of  nothing — but  to  lose  the  race.  663 

Faults  in  the  life  breed  errors  in  the  brain, 
And  these,  reci[)rocally,  those  again. 
The  mind  and  conduct  mutually  inq-)rint 
And  stanq)  their  image  in  each  other's  mint: 
Each,  sire  and  dam,  of  an  infernal  race, 
Begetting  and  conceiving  all  that's  base. 

None  sends  his  arrow  to  the  mark  in  view, 
Whose  hand  is  feeble,  or  his  aim  untrue. 
For  though  ere  yet  the  shaft  is  on  the  wing. 
Or  when  it  flrst  forsakes  the  elastic  string, 
It  err  but  little  from  the  intended  line. 


58  cowper's  poetical  works. 

It  falls  at  last  far  wide  of  his  design : 
So  he  who  seeks  a  mansion  in  the  sky, 
Must  watch  his  purpose  with  a  steadfast  eye ; 
That  prize  belongs  to  none  but  the  sincere, 
The  least  obliquity  is  fatal  here. 

With  caution  taste  the  sweet  Circean  cup ; 
lie  that  sips  often,  at  last  drinks  it  up. 
Habits  are  soon  assumed,  but  when  we  strive 
To  stri])  them  off,  'tis  being  flay VI  alive. 
Call'd  to  the  temple  of  im])ure  delight,  584 

He  that  abstains,  and  he  alone,  does  right. 
If  a  wish  wander  that  way,  call  it  home; 
He  cannot  long  be  safe  whose  wishes  roam. 
But  if  you  pass  the  threshold,  you  are  caught ; 
Die  then,  if  powder  Almighty  save  you  not ! 
There  hardening  by  degrees,  till  double  steelVl, 
Take  leave  of  nature's  God,  and  God  revealVl ; 
Then  laugh  at  all  you  trembled  at  before, 
And,  joining  the  freethinkers'  brutal  roar. 
Swallow  the  two  grand  nostrums  they  dispense — 
That  Scripture  lies,  and  blasphemy  is  sense  :  595 

If  clemency  revolted  by  abuse 
Be  damnable,  then  danm'd  without  excuse. 

Some  dream  that  they  can  silence,  when  they  will, 
The  storm  of  passion,  and  say,  Peace^  he  still ; 
But  Thus  far  and  no  farther^  when  address'd 
To  the  wild  wave,  or  wilder  human  breast, 
Implies  authority  that  never  can. 
That  never  ouglit  to  be  the  lot  of  man. 

But,  Muse,  forbear  ;  long  flights  forebode  a  fall ; 
Strike  on  the  deep-toned  chord  the  sum  of  all. 

Hear  the  just  law,  the  judgment  of  the  skies!  606 

He  that  hates  truth  shall  be  the  dupe  of  lies ; 
And  he  that  Avill  be  cheated  to  the  last, 
Delusions,  strong  as  hell,  shall  bind  him  fost. 
But  if  the  wanderer  his  mistake  discern. 
Judge  his  own  ways,  and  sigh  for  a  return, 
Bewilder'd  once,  must  he  bewail  his  loss' 
Forever  and  forever?     No — the  Cross! 
There,  and  there  only  (though  the  deist  rave, 
And  atheist,  if  earth  bear  so  base  a  slave)  ; 
Tliere,  and  there  only,  is  the  power  to  save. 
There  no  delusive  hope  invites  despair,  517 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  59 

No  mockery  meets  you,  no  deception  there. 
The  spells  and  charms  that  blinded  you  before, 
All  vanish  there,  and  fascinate  no  more. 

I  am  no  preacher,  let  this  hint  suffice, — 
The  Cross,  once  seen,  is  death  to  every  vice  : 
Else  lie  that  hung  there,  suffered  all  his  pain, 
Bled,  groan'd,  and  agonized,  and  died  in  vain. 


TRUTH. 


Pensantur  trutina. — IIor.  Lib.  ii.  Ep.  1. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Erfor  leads  to  destrnction,  1— Grace  conducts  to  righteousness  and  peace,  17— Its 
ofiFers  despised,  32— The  self-complacency  of  the  Pharisee,  44— Humility  of  the 
true  Christian,  66— Works  of  righteousness  of  the  hermit  and  Brahmin  alike  con- 
demned, 79— A  sanctimonious  prude,  131— Cheerfulness  and  freedom  of  true  piety, 
171— Willing  obedience  the  test  of  love,  197— The  Gospel  the  sure  refuge  of  the 
sinner,  238— False  grounds  of  peace,  283— Infidelity ;  Voltaire,  301— Simplicity  of 
faith,  317— Xot  many  rich  called,  337— Offers  of  the  Gospel  free  to  all,  345— Poverty 
the  best  soil  for  the  Gospel  seed,  361— Sinfulness  and  weakness  of  man,  383 — 
His  pride  and  self-esteem,  403— Unbelief  terminating  in  suicide,  429— Scripture  the 
cure  of  woe,  451— Pride  the  greatest  opponent  of  tlie  truth,  463— The  atonement 
not  for  the  self-righteous,  503— Plea  for  the  conscientious  heathen,  515— TeiTors  of 
the  law,  547— The  last  judgment,  563— Humility  crowned,  faith  triumphant,  571. 

Man,  on  the  dubious  waves  of  error  tost, 
His  ship  half  fonnder'd  and  his  compass  lost, 
Sees,  far  as  human  optics  may  command, 
A  sleeping  fog,  and  fancies  it  dry  land; 
Spreads  all  his  canvas,  every  sinew  plies ; 
Pants  for't,  aims  at  it,  enters  it,  and  dies! 
Then  foreAvell  all  self-satisfying  schemes,  7" 

His  well-built  systems,  philosophic  dreams ; 
Deceitful  views  of  future  bliss,  farewell ! 
He  reads  his  sentence  at  the  flames  of  hell. 
Hard  lot  of  man — to  toil  for  the  reward 
Of  virtue,  and  yet  lose  it !     Wherefore  hard? 
He  that  Avould  win  the  race'  must  guide  his  horse 
Obedient  to  the  customs  of  the  course; 
Else,  though  unequallM  to  the  goal  he  flies, 
A  meaner  than  himself  shall  gain  the  prize. 
Grace  leads  the  right  way;  if  you  choose  the  wrong 
Take  it  and  perish,  but  restrain  your  tongue;  13 


TRUTH.  61 

Charge  not,  with  light  sufficient  and  left  free, 
Your  wilful  suicide  on  God's  decree. 

Oh  how  unlike  the  complex  works  of  man, 
Heaven's  easy,  artless,  unencumbered  plan ! 
No  meretricious  graces  to  beguile, 
No  clustering  ornaments  to  clog  the  pile ; 
From  ostentation  as  from  weakness  free. 
It  stands  like  the  cerulean  arcPi  we  see. 
Majestic  in  its  own  simplicity. 

Inscribed  above  the  portal,  from  afar  28 

Conspicuous  as  the  brightness  of  a  star. 
Legible  only  by  the  light  they  give, 
Stand  the  soul-quickening  words — Believe,  and  live. 
Too  many,  shock'd  at  what  should  charm  them  most, 
Despise  the  plain  direction,  and  are  lost. 
Heaven  on  such  terms !  (they  cry  with  proud  disdain) — 
Incredible,  impossible,  and  vain ! — 
Kebel  because  'tis  easy  to  obey. 
And  scorn,  for  its  own  sake,  the  gracious  way. 
These  are  the  sober,  in  whose  cooler  brains 
Some  thought  of  immortality  remains ;  39 

The  rest  too  busy,  or  too  gay,  to  w^ait 
On  the  sad  theme,  tlieir  everlasting  state, 
Sport  for  a  da}',  and  perish  in  a  night. 
The  foam  upon  the  waters  not  so  light. 

Who  judged  the  Pharisee?     What  odious  cause 
Exposed  him  to  the  vengeance  of  the  laws? 
Had  he  seduced  a  virgin,  wrong'd  a  friend. 
Or  stabb'd  a  man  to  serve  some  private  end  ? 
Was  blasphemy  his  sin?  or  did  he  stray 
From  the  strict  duties  of  the  sacred  day? 
Sit  long  and  late  at  the  carousing  board?  50 

(Such  were  the  sins  with  wdiich  he  charged  his  Lord.) 
No — the  man's  morals  were  exact, — what  then  ? 
'Twas  his  ambition  to  be  seen  of  men; 
His  virtues  Avere  his  pride;  and  that  one  vice 
Made  all  his  virtues  gewgaws  of  no  price; 
He  wore  them  as  fine  trap])ings  for  a  show, 
A  ]u\aying,  synagogue-freijuenting  beau. 

Tlie  self- applauding  bird,  the  peapock,  see — 
Mark  what  a  sumptuous  Pharisee  is  he! 
Meridian  sunbeanis  tempt  him  to  unfold 
His  radiant  glories,  azure,  green,  and  gold ;  Gl 

6 


62  cowper's  poetical  works. 

He  treads  as  if,  some  solemn  music  near, 
His  measured  step  Avere  governed  by  his  ear. 
And  seems  to  say.  Ye  meaner  fowl,  give  place, 
I  am  all  splendor,  dignity,  and  grace ! 

Not  so  the  pheasant  on  his  charms  presumes. 
Though  he  too  has  a  glory  in  his  plumes. 
He,  Ohristian-like,  retreats  with  modest  mien, 
To  the  close  copse  or  far  sequester'd  green. 
And  shines  witliout  desiring  to  be  seen. 
The  plea  of  works,  as  arrogant  and  vain,  71 

Heaven  turns  from  Avith  abhorrence  and  disdain : 
I^ot  more  affronted  by  avow'd  neglect, 
Than  by  the  mere  dissembler's  feign'd  respect. 
What  is  all  rigliteousness  that  men  devise, 
"What,  but  a  sordid  bargain  for  the  skies? 
But  Christ  as  soon  would  abdicate  his  own. 
As  stoop  from  heaven  to  sell  the  proud  a  throne. 

His  dwelling  a  recess  in  some  rude  rock; 
Book,  beads,  and  maple-dish  his  meagre  stock ; 
In  shirt  of  hair  and  weeds  of  canvas  dressVl, 
Girt  with  a  bell-rope  that  the  Pope  has  bless'd ;  82 

Adust  Avith  stripes  told  out  for  every  crime. 
And  sore  tormented  long  before  his  time ; 
His  prayer  preferr'd  to  saints  that  cannot  aid, 
His  praise  postponed,  and  never  to  be  paid ; 
See  the  sage  hermit,  by  mankind  admired, 
With  all  that  bigotry  adopts,  inspired, 
Wearing  out  life  in  his  religious  whim, 
'Till  his  religious  whimsy  wears  out  him. 
His  works,  his  abstinence,  his  zeal  alloAv'd, 
You  tliink  him  liumble — God  accounts  him  proud: 
High  in  demand,  though  lowly  in  pretence,  93 

Of  all  his  conduct,  this  the  genuine  sense — 
My  penitential  stripes,  my  streaming  blood. 
Have  purcliased  heaven,  and  prove  my  title  good. 

Turn  eastward  now,  and  fancy  shall  apply 
To  your  Aveak  siglit  her  telescopic  eye. 
The  Brahmin  kindles  on  his  OAvn  bare  head 
The  sacred  tire,  self-torturing  his  trade; 
His  voluntary  pains,  severe  and  long, 
AVould  give  a  barbarous  air  to  British  song; 
No  grand  inquisitor  could  Avorse  iuA'ent, 
Than  he  contrives  to  suffer,  Avell  content.  104 


TRUTH.  63 

Wliicli  is  tlie  saintlier  wortliy  of  the  two? 
Past  all  dispute,  yon  anchorite,  say  yon. 
Yonr  sentence  and  mine  differ.     AVhat's  a  name? 
I  say  the  Brahmin  has  the  foirer  claim. 
If  sufferings  Scripture  nowhere  recommends, 
Devised  hy  self,  to  answer  selfish  ends. 
Give  saintship,  then  all  Europe  must  agree, 
Ten  starveling  hermits  suffer  less  than  he. 

The  truth  is  (if  the  truth  may  suit  your  ear. 
And  i)rejudice  have  left  a  passage  clear),  114 

Pride  has  attain'd  its  most  luxuriant  growth. 
And  poison'd  every  virtue  in  them  both. 
Pride  may  be  pamperd  while  the  flesh  grows  lean; 
Humility  may  clothe  an  English  dean ; 
Tliat  grace  was  Cowper's — his  confessed  by  all —      "^^ 
Though  ])laced  in  golden  Durham's  second  stall, 
Not  all  the  plenty  of  a  bishop's  board, 
His  palace,  and  his  lackeys,  and  ''My  Lord," 
More  nourish  pride,  t\iat  condescending  vice. 
Than  abstinence,  and  beggary,  and  lice. 
It  thrives  in  misery,  and  abundant  grows;  125 

In  misery  fools  upon  themselves  impose. 

But  why  before  us  Protestants  produce 
An  Indian  mystic  or  a  French  recluse? 
Their  sin  is  plain;  but  what  have  we  to  fear, 
Eeform'd  and  well  instructed?     You  shall  hear. 

Yon  ancient  prude,  whose  withered  features  show 
She  might  be  young  some  forty  years  ago, 
Her  elbows  pinion'd  close  U];)on  her  hips. 
Her  head  erect,  her  fan  upon  her  lips. 
Her  eyebrows  arch'd,  her  eyes  both  gone  astray 
To  watch  yon  amorous  couple  in  their  play,  136 

AVith  bony  and  unkerchief'd  neck  defies 
The  rude  inclemency  of  wintry  skies. 
And  sails  with  lappet-head  and  mincing  airs 
Duly  at  clink  of  bell  to  morning  prayers. 
To  thrift  and  parsiuKmy  much  inclined, 
She  yet  allows  herself  that  boy  behind; 
The  shivering  urchin,  bending  as  he  goes. 
With  slipshod  heels,  and  dewdrop  at  his  nose; 
His  predecessor's  coat  advanced  to  wear, 
Which  future  pages  are  yet  doom'd  to  share ; 
Carries  her  Bible  tuck'd  beneath  his  arm,  14T 


64  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  hides  liis  liands,  to  keep  his  fingers  warm. — 

She,  half  an  angel  in  her  own  account, 

Douhts  not  hereafter  with  the  saints  to  mount. 

Though  not  a  grace  appears  on  strictest  searcli, 

But  that  slie  fasts,  and  item^  goes  to  church. 

Conscious  of  age,  she  recollects  her  youth. 

And  tells,  not  always  with  an  eye  to  truth, 

Who  spanned  her  waist,  and  who,  wdiere'er  he  came, 

Scrawl'd  upon  glass  Miss  Bridget's  lovely  name ; 

Who  stole  her  slipper,  fill'd  it  with  tokay,  157 

And  drank  the  little  bumper  every  day. 

Of  temper  as  envenomVl  as  an  asp. 

Censorious,  and  her  every  word  a  wasp ; 

In  faithful  memory  she  records  the  crimes, 

Or  real,  or  fictitious,  of  the  times; 

Laughs  at  tlie  reputations  she  has  torn. 

And  holds  them  dangling  at  arm's  length  in  scorn. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  sanctimonious  pride, 
Of  malice  fed  while  flesh  is  mortified: 
Take,  madam,  the  reward  of  all  your  prayers, 
Where  hermits  and  where  Brahmins  meet  Avith  theirs! 
Yaur  portion  is  with  them :  nay,  never  frown,  169 

B'ut,  if  you  please,  some  fathoms  lower  down. 

Artist,  attend — your  brushes  and  your  paint — 
Produce  them — take  a  chair — now  draw  a  Saint. 
Oh,  sorrowful  and  sad!  the  streaming  tears 
Channel  her  cheeks, — a  Niobe  appears ! 
Is  this  a  Sainit?     Throw  tints  and  all  away — 
True  Piety  is  cheerful  as  the  day. 
Will  weep  indeed  and  heave  a  pitying  groan 
Fo.r  others'  woes,  but  smiles  upon  her  owm 

What  purpose  has  the  King  of  Saints  in  view?         179 
Why  falls  the  Gospel  like  a  gracious  dew  ? 
To  call  up  plenty  from  the  teeming  earth. 
Or  curse  the  desert  with  a  tenfold  dearth  ? 
Is  it  that  Adam's  offspring  may  be  saved 
From  servile  fear,  or  be  the  more  enslaved  ? 
To  loose  the  links  that  gall'd  mankind  before, 
Or  bind  them  faster  on,  and  add  still  more? 
The  freeborn  Christian  has  jio  chains  to  prove, 
Or  if  a  chain,  the  golden  one  of  love ; 
No  fear  attends  to  cpiench  his  glowing  fires, 
What  fear  he  feels  his  gratitude  inspires.  190 


TRUTH.  65' 

Shall  he,  for  siicli  deliverance  freely  wrought, 
Recompense  ill?     lie  trembles  at  the  thought : 
His  Master's  interest  and  his  own  combined. 
Prompt  every  movement  of  his  lieart  and  mind: 
Thought,  word,  and  deed,  his  liberty  evince, 
His  freedom  is  the  freedom  of  a  prince. 

Man's  obligations  infinite,  of  course 
His  life  should  prove  that  lie  perceives  their  force; 
His  utmost  he  can  render  is  but  small, 
The  principle  and  motive  all  in  all.  20O 

You  liave  two  servants — Tom,  an  arch,  sly  rogue. 
From  top  to  toe  the  Geta  now  in  vogue ; 
Genteel  in  figure,  easy  in  address. 
Moves  without  noise,  and  swift  as  an  express ; 
Reports  a  message  with  a  pleasing  grace, 
Ex'pert  in  all  the  duties  of  his  place : 
Say,  on  what  hinge  does  his  obedience  move? 
Has  he  a  world  of  gratitude  and  love  ? 
No,  not  a  spark — 'tis  all  mere  sharper's  play ; 
He  likes  your  house,  your  housemaid,  and  your  pay; 
Reduce  his  wages,  or  get  rid  of  her, 
Tom  quits  you,  with — Your  most  obedient,  sir.  212 

The  dinner  served,  Charles  takes  his  usual  stand, 
Watches  your  eye,  anticipates  command, 
Sighs  if  perhaps  your  appetite  should  fail. 
And  if  he  but  suspects  a  frown,  turns  pale ; 
Consults  all  day  your  interest  and  your  ease, 
Ricbly  rewarded  if  he  can  but  please. 
And,  proud  to  make  his  firm  attachment  known, 
To  save  your  life  would  nobly  risk  his  own. 

Now,  which  stands  highest  in  your  serious  thought? 
Charles,  without  doubt,  say  you — and  so  he  ought;    222 
One  act  that  from  a  thankful  heart  proceeds. 
Excels  ten  thousand  mercenary  deeds. 

Thus  Heaven  approves,  as  honest  and  sincere, 
The  work  of  generous  love  and  filial  fear ; 
But  with  averted  eyes  the  omniscient  Judge 
Scorns  the  base  hireling  and  the  slavish  drudge. 

Where  dwell  these  nuitchless  saints?  old  Curio  cries. 
Even  at  your  side,  sir,  and  before  your  eyes. 
The  favor'd  few,  the  enthusiasts  you  despise. 
And,  pleased  at  heart  because  on  holy  ground 
:  Sometimes  a  canting  hypocrite  is  found,  233 


66  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Reproach  a  people  with  his  single  fall, 
And  cast  his  filthy  raiment  at  them  all. 
Attend! — an  apt  similitude  shall  show 
Whence  springs  the  conduct  that  offends  you  so. 
See  where  it  smokes  along  the  sounding  plain, 
Blown  all  aslant,  a  driving,  dashing  rain; 
Peal  upon  peal  redoubling  all  around. 
Shakes  it  again  and  faster  to  tlie  ground ; 
Now  flashing  wide,  now  glancing  as  in  play, 
Swift  beyond  thought  the  lightnings  dart  away :         243 
Ere  yet  it  came  the  traveller  urged  his  steed, 
And  hurried,  but  with  unsuccessful  speed ; 
IN'ow  drench'd  througliout,  and  hopeless  of  his  case. 
He  drops  the  rein,  and  leaves  him  to  his  pace. 
Suppose,  unlook'd  for  in  a  scene  so  rude, 
Long  hid  by  interposing  hill  or  wood, 
Some  mansion,  neat  and  elegantly  dressM, 
By  some  kind  hospitable  heart  possessed, 
Otfer  him  warmth,  security,  and  rest; 
Think  with  Avhat  pleasure,  safe,  and  at  his  ease, 
He  hears  tlie  tempest  howling  in  the  trees;  254 

What  glowing  thanks  his  lips  and  heart  employ. 
While  danger  past  is  turn\l  to  present  joy. 
So  fares  it  with  the  sinner,  when  he  feels 
A  growing  dread  of  vengeance  at  his  heels; 
His  conscience,  like  a  glassy  lake  before, 
Lash'd  into  foaming  waves,  begins  to  roar; 
The  law,  grown  clamorous,  though  silent  long. 
Arraigns  hiin,  cliarges  him  with  every  wrong. 
Asserts  tJie  rights  of  his  offended  Lord, 
And  death,  or  restitution,  is  the  word: 
The  last  impossible,  lie  fears  the  first,  265 

And,  having  well  deserved,  expects  the  worst. 
Then  welcome  refuge,  and  a  peaceful  home ; 
Oh,  for  a  shelter  from  the  wrath  to  come ! 
Crush  me,  ye  rocks!  je  falling  mountains,  hide. 
Or  bury  me  in  ocean's  angry  tide ! — 
The  scrutiny  of  those  all-seeing  eyes 

1  dare  not And  you  need  not,  God  replies ; 

The  remedy  you  want  I  freely  give; 

The  Book  shall  teach  you — read,  believe,  and  live! 

Tis  done — the  raging  storm  is  heard  no  more, 

Mercy  receives  him  on  her  peaceful  shore ;  276 


67 

And  Justice,  guardian  of  t 

Drops  tlie  red  vengeance  from  liis  willing  hand. 

A  soul  redeemVl  demands  a  life  of  praise ; 

Hence  the  complexion  of  his  future  days, 

Hence  a  demeanor  holy  and  unspeck'd, 

And  the  "vvorLcFs  hatred,  as  its  sure  effect. 

Some  lead  a  life  unblamable  and  just. 
Their  own  dear  virtue  their  unshaken  trust. 
They  never  sin — or  if  (as  all  offend) 
Some  trivial  slips  their  daily  walk  attend,  286 

The  poor  are  near  at  hand,  the  charge  is  small, 
A  slight  gratuity  atones  for  all. 
For  though  the  Pope  has  lost  his  interest  here, 
And  pardons  are  not  sold  as  once  they  were. 
No  Papist  more  desirous  to  compound. 
Than  some  grave  sinners  upon  English  ground : 
That  plea  refuted,  other  quirks  they  seek, — 
Mercy  is  infinite,  and  man  is  weak ; 
The  future  shall  obliterate  the  past, 
And  heaven,  no  doubt,  sljall  be  their  home  at  last. 

Come,  then — a  still,  small  whisper  in  your  ear —     297 
He  has  no  hope  who  never  had  a  fear ; 
And  he  that  never  doubted  of  his  state. 
He  may  perhaps — perhaps  he  may — too  late. 

The  path  to  bliss  abounds  with  many  a  snare ; 
Learning  is  one,  and  wit,  however  rare. 
The  Frenchman,  first  in  literary  fame 
(Mention  him,  if  you  please.     Voltaire? — The  same), 
With  spirit,  genius,  eloquence  supplied. 
Lived  long,  wrote  much,  laugh VI  heartily,  and  died: 
The  Scripture  Avas  his  jest-book,  whence  he  drew 
Bon-mots  to  gall  the  Christian  and  the  Jew :  308 

An  infidel  in  liealth,  but  wdiat  when  sick  ? 
Oh — then  a  text  would  touch  him  at  the  quick! 
View  him  at  Paris  in  his  last  career, 
Surrounding  throngs  the  demigod  revere. 
Exalted  on  liis  pedestal  of  pride. 
And  fumed  with  frankincense  on  every  side. 
He  begs  their  flattery  with  his  latest  breath. 
And,  smother'd  in't  at  last,  is  praised  to  death! 

Yon  cottager  who  weaves  at  her  own  door, 
Pillow  and  bobbins  all  her  little  store. 
Content  though  mean,  and  cheerful  if  not  gay,  319 


8  COWPER  S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Shuffling  her  threads  about  the  livelong  day, 

Just  earns  a  scanty  pittance,  and  at  night 

Lies  down  secure,  her  heart  and  pocket  light ; 

She,  for  her  humble  sphere  by  nature  fit. 

Has  little  understanding,  and  no  wit, 

Receives  no  praise,  but  (though  her  lot  be  such, 

Toilsome  and  indigent)  she  renders  much ; 

Just  knows,  and  knows  no  more,  her  Bible  true — 

A  truth  the  brilliant  Frenchman  never  knew  ; 

And  in  that  charter  reads  with  sparkling  eyes  329 

Her  title  to  a  treasure  in  the  skies. 

O  happy  peasant !    O  unhappy  bard ! 

His  the  mere  tinsel,  hers  the  rich  reward ; 

He  praised  perhaps  for  ages  yet  to  come, 

She  never  heard  of  half  a  mile  from  home ; 

He  lost  in  errors  his  vain  heart  prefers. 

She  safe  in  the  simplicity  of  hers. 

Not  many  wise,  rich,  noble,  or  profound 
In  science,  win  one  inch  of  heavenly  ground : 
And  is  it  not  a  mortifying  thought 

The  poor  should  gain  it,  and  the  rich  should  not?       340 
No — the  voluptuaries,  who  ne'er  forget 
One  pleasure  lost,  lose  heaven  without  regret; 
Regret  Avould  rouse  them,  and  give  birth  to  prayer, 
Prayer  would  add  faith,  and  faith  would  fix  them  there. 

Not  that  the  Former  of  us  all  in  this. 
Or  aught  he  does,  is  govern'd  by  caprice ; 
The  supposition  is  replete  with  sin. 
And  bears  the  brand  of  blasphemy  burnt  in. 
Not  so — the  silver  trumpet's  heavenly  call 
Sounds  for  the  poor,  but  sounds  alike  for  all ; 
Kings  are  invited,  and  would  kings  obey,  351. 

No  slaves  on  earth  more  welcome  were  than  they : 
But  royalty,  nobility,  and  state. 
Are  such  a  dead,  preponderating  weight. 
That  endless  bliss  (hoAV  strange  soe'er  it  seem). 
In  counterpoise,  flies  up  and  kicks  the  beam. 
'Tis  open,  and  ye  cannot  enter;  why? 
Because  ye  will  not,  Conyers  would  reply — 
And  he  says  much  that  many  may  dispute 
And  cavil  at  with  ease,  but  none  refute. 
Oh,  bless'd  eflTect  of  penury  and  want. 
The  seed  sown  there,  how  vigorous  is  the  plant !        362 


TRUTH.  69 

Ko  soil  like  poverty  for  growth  divine, 

As  leanest  land  supplies  the  richest  wine. 

Earth  gives  too  little,  giving  only  bread, 

To  nourish  pride,  or  turn  the  weakest  head: 

To  them  the  sounding  jargon  of  the  schools 

Seems  what  it  is — a  cap  and  bells  for  fools : 

The  light  they  walk  by,  kindled  from  above, 

Shows  them  the  shortest  way  to  life  and  love : 

They,  strangers  to  the  controversial  field. 

Where  deists,  always  foiPd,  yet  scorn  to  yield,  372 

And  never  checked  by  what  impedes  the  wise, 

Believe,  rush  forward,  and  possess  the  prize. 

Envy,  ye  great,  the  dull  unlettered  small ! 
Ye  have  much  cause  for  envy — but  not  all : 
AYe  boast  some  rich  ones  whom  the  Gospel  sways, 
And  one  who  wears  a  coronet  and  prays ; 
Like  gleanings  of  an  olive-tree,  they  show, 
Here  and  there  one  upon  the  topmost  bough. 

How  readily,  upon  the  Gospel  plan,- 
That  question  has  its  answer — What  is  man? 
Sinful  and  weak,  in  every  sense  a  wretch,  383 

An  instrument  whose  chords,  upon  the  stretch, 
And  strained  to  the  last  screw  tliat  he  can  bear. 
Yield  only  discord  in  his  Maker's  ear; 
Once  the  blest  residence  of  truth  divine, 
Glorious  as  Solyma's  interior  shrine, 
Where,  in  his  own  oracular  abode,      ' 
Dwelt  visibly  the  light-creating  God; 
But  made  long  since,  like  Babylon  of  old, 
A  den  of  mischiefs  never  to  be  told : 
And  she,  once  mistress  of  the  realms  around, 
Kow  scatter'd  wide,  and  nowhere  to  be  found,  394 

As  soon  shall  rise  and  reascend  the  throne, 
By  native  power  and  energy  her  own, 
As  Nature,  at  her  own  peculiar  cost, 
Restore  to  man  the  glories  he  has  lost. 
Go,  bid  the  winter  cease  to  chill  the  year, 
Replace  the  wandering  comet  in  his  sphere, 
Then  boast  (but  wait  for  that  unhoped-for  hour) 
The  self-restoring  arm  of  human  power! 
But  what  is  man  in  his  own  proud  esteem? 
Hear  him,  himself  the  poet  and  the  theme: 
A  monarch  clothed  with  majesty  and  awe,  405 


10  cowper's  poetical  works. 

His  mind  liis  kingdom,  and  his  will  liis  law ; 

Grace  in  Lis  mien,  and  glory  in  Lis  eyes. 

Supreme  on  earth,  and  wortLy  of  tlie  skies ; 

Strength  in  his  heart,  dominion  in  his  nod. 

And,  thunderbolts  excepted,  quite  a  God ! 

So  sings  he,  charm'd  with  his  own  mind  and  form, 

The  song  magnificent,  the  theme  a  worm ! 

Himself  so  much  the  source  of  his  delight, 

His  Maker  has  no  beauty  in  his  sight : 

See  where  he  sits,  contemplative  and  fix'd,  415 

Pleasure  and  wonder  in  his  features  mixVl, 

His  passions  tamed  and  all  at  liis  control, 

How  perfect  the  composure  of  his  soul ! 

Complacency  has  breathed  a  gentle  gale 

O'er  all  his  thoughts,  and  swell'd  his  easy  sail : 

His  books,  well  trimm'd,  and  in  the  gayest  style, 

Like  regimental  coxcombs,  rank  and  file. 

Adorn  his  intellects  as  well  as  shelves. 

And  teach  him  notions  splendid  as  themselves : 

The  Bible  only  stands  neglected  there, 

Though  that  of  all  most  worthy  of  his  care ;  426 

And,  like  an  infant,  troublesome  awake, 

Is  left  to  sleep  for  peace  and  quiet'  sake. 

What  shall  the  man  deserve  of  human  kind, 
Whose  happy  skill  and  industry  combined 
Shall  prove  (what  argument  could  never  yet) 
The  Bible  an  imposture  and  a  cheat  ? 
The  praises  of  the  libertine  professM, 
The  worst  of  men,  and  curses  of  the  best. 
"Where  should  the  living,  weeping  o'er  his  woes  5 
The  dying,  trembling  at  their  awful  close; 
Where  the  betray'd,  forsaken,  and  oppressed,  437 

The  thousands  whom  tlie  world  forbids  to  rest; — 
Where  should  they  find  (those  comforts  at  an  end 
The  Scripture  yields),  or  hope  to  find,  a  friend? 
Sorrow  might  muse  herself  to  madness  then, 
And,  seeking  exile  from  the  sight  of  men. 
Bury  herself  in  solitude  profound. 
Grow  frantic  with  her  pangs,  and  bite  the  ground. 
Thus  often  Unbelief,  grown  sick  of  life, 
Flies  to  the  tempting  pool  or  felon  knife : 
The  jury  meet,  the  coroner  is  short. 
And  lunacy  the  verdict  of  the  court.  448 


TRUTH.  Yl 

Reverse  the  sentence,  let  tlie  truth  be  known, 

Such  hinacy  is  ignorance  ah,)ne : 

They  knew  not,  what  some  bisliops  may  not  know, 

That  Scripture  is  the  only  cure  of  woe: 

That  field  of  promise,  how  it  flings  abroad 

Its  odor  o'er  the  Christian's  thorny  road ! 

The  soul,  reposing  on  assured  relief. 

Feels  herself  happy  amidst  all  her  grief, 

Forgets  her  labor  as  she  toils  along. 

Weeps  tears  of  joy,  and  bursts  into  a  song.  458 

But  the  same  word  that,  like  the  polisli'd  share, 
Ploughs  up  the  roots  of  a  believer's  care. 
Kills  too  the  tlowery  weeds,  where'er  they  grow^, 
That  bind  the  sinner's  bacchanalian  brow. 
Oh,  that  umvelcome  voice  of  heavenly  love. 
Sad  messenger  of  mercy  from  above! 
How  does  it  grate  upon  his  thankless  ear. 
Crippling  his  pleasures  with  the  cramp  of  fear ! 
His  will  and  judgment  at  continual  strife. 
That  civil  war  embitters  all  his  life; 
In  vain  he  points  his  powers  against  the  skies,  4G0 

In  vain  he  closes  or  averts  his  eyes. 
Truth  will  intrude — she  bids  him  yet  beware; 
And  shakes  the  skeptic  in  the  scorner's  chair. 
Though  various  foes  against  the  truth  combine, 
Pride  above  all  opposes  her  design ; 
Pride,  of  a  growth  superior  to  the  rest. 
The  subtlest  serpent  with  the  loftiest  crest, 
Swells  at  the  thought,  and  kindling  into  rage, 
"Would  hiss  the  cherub  Mercy  from  the  stage. 
And  is  the  soul  indeed  so  lost  ?  she  cries; 
Fallen  from  her  glory,  and  too  weak  to  rise?  480 

Torpid  and  dull,  beneath  a  frozen  zone. 
Has  she  no  spark  that  may  be  deem'd  her  own? 
Grant  her  indebted  to  what  zealots  call 
Grace  undeserved,  yet  surely  not  for  all ! 
Some  beams  of  rectitude  she  yet  displays, 
Some  love  of  virtue,  and  some  power  to  praise ; 
Can  lift  herself  above  corporeal  things. 
And,  soaring  on  her  own  unborrow'd  wings. 
Possess  herself  of  all  that's  good  or  true. 
Assert  the  skies,  and  vindicate  her  due. 
Past  indiscretion  is  a  venial  crime ;  491 


72  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  if  the  youth,  unmellow'd  yet  by  time, 

Bore  on  his  brancli,  luxuriant  then  and  rude, 

Fruits  of  a  blighted  size,  austere  and  crude, 

Maturer  years  shall  happier  stores  produce, 

And  meliorate  the  well-concocted  juice. 

Then,  conscious  of  her  meritorious  zeal. 

To  justice  she  may  make  her  bold  appeal, 

And  leave  to  Mercy,  with  a  tranquil  mind, 

The  worthless  and  unfruitful  of  mankind. 

Hear  then  how  Mercy,  slighted  and  defied,  501 

Eetorts  the  affront  against  the  crown  of  Pride. 

Perish  the  virtue,  as  it  ought,  abhorr'd. 
And  the  fool  with  it,  who  insults  his  Lord ! 
The  atonement  a  Redeemer's  love  has  wrought 
Is  not  for  you — the  righteous  need  it  not. 
Seest  thou  yon  harlot,  wooing  all  she  meets. 
The  worn-out  nuisance  of  the  public  streets. 
Herself  from  morn  to  night,  from  night  to  morn, 
Her  own  abhorrence,  and  as  much  your  scorn  ? 
The  gracious  shower,  unlimited  and  free, 
Shall  fall  on  her,  when  Heaven  denies  it  thee.  512 

Of  all  tliat  wisdom  dictates,  this  the  drift — 
That  man  is  dead  in  sin,  and  life  a  gift. 

Is  virtue,  then,  unless  of  Cliristian  growth, 
Mere  fallacy,  or  foolishness,  or  both? 
Ten  tliousand  sages  lost  in  endless  woe, 
For  ignorance  of  what  they  could  not  know  ? — 
That  speecli  betrays  at  once  a  bigot's  tongue ; 
Charge  not  a  God  witli  such  outrageous  wrong! 
Truly,  not  I.— the  partial  light  men  have. 
My  creed  persuades  me,  well  employ'd,  may  save ; 
While  he  that  scorns  tlie  noonday  beam,  perverse,      528 
Shall  find  the  blessing,  unimproved,  a  curse. 
Let  heathen  worthies,  whose  exalted  mind 
Left  sensuality  and  dross  behind. 
Possess  for  me  their  undisputed  lot. 
And  take  unenvied  the  reward  they  sought ; 
But  still  in  virtue  of  a  Saviour's  plea, 
Not  blind  by  choice,  but  destined  not  to  see. 
Their  fortitude  and  wisdom  were  a  flame 
Celestial,  though  they  knew  not  whence  it  came ; 
Derived  from  the  same  source  of  light  and  grace 
That  guides  the  Christian  in  his  swifter  race;  5841 


TRUTH.  V-] 

Their  judge  was  Conscience,  and  her  rnle  their  law; 

That  rule,  pursued  with  reverence  and  with  awe, 

Led  them,  however  faltering,  faint,  and  slow, 

From  what  they  knew  to  what  they  wish'd  to  know : 

But  let  not  liim  that  shares  a  brighter  day 

Traduce  the  splendor  of  a  noontide  ray, 

Prefer  the  twilight  of  a  darker  time, 

And  deem  his  base  stupidity  no  crime ; 

The  wretch  who  slights  the  bounty  of  the  skies, 

And  sinks,  while  favor'd  with  the  means  to  rise,         544 

Shall  find  them  rated  at  their  full  amount. 

The  good  he  scorn'd  all  carried  to  account. 

Marshalling  all  his  terrors  as  he  came. 
Thunder,  and  earthquake,  and  devouring  flame,  ^ 

From  Sinai's  top  Jehovah  gave  the  law — 
Life  for  obedience,  death  for  every  flaw. 
"When  the  great  Sovereign  would  his  will  express. 
He  gives  a  perfect  rule ;  what  can  He  less  ? 
And  guards  it  with  a  sanction  as  severe 
As  vengeance  can  inflict,  or  sinners  fear : 
Else  his  own  glorious  rights  he  would  disclaim,  555 

And  man  might  safely  trifle  with  his  name. 
He  bids  him  glow  with  unremitting  love 
To  all  on  earth,  and  to  himself  above ; 
Condemns  the  injurious  deed,  the  slanderous  tongue. 
The  thought  that  meditates  a  brother's  Avrong : 
Brings  not  alone  the  more  conspicuous  part. 
His  conduct,  to  the  test,  but  tries  his  heart. 

Hark!  universal  Nature  shook  and  groan'd, 
'Twas  the  last  trumpet — see  the  Judge  enthroned ! 
Eouse  all  your  courage  at  your  utmost  need, 
Now  summon  every  virtue,  stand  and  plead.  5G6 

"What !  silent  ?     Ls  your  boasting  heard  no  more  ? 
That  self-renouncing  wisdom,  learn'd  before, 
Had  shed  immortal  glories  on  your  brow. 
That  all  your  virtues  cannot  purchase  now. 

All  joy  to  the  believer !     He  can  speak — 
Trembling  yet  happy,  confident  yet  meek.— 

'^  Since  the  dear  hour  that  brought  me  to  thy  foot, 
And  cut  up  all  my  follies  by  the  root, 
I  never  trusted  in  an  arm  but  thine, 
Nor  hoped,  but  in  thy  righteousness  divine: 
My  prayers  and  alms,  imperfect  and  defiled,  577 

1 


74  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Were  but  the  feeble  efforts  of  a  child ; 
Howe'er  performM,  it  was  their  briglitest  part, 
That  they  proceeded  from  a  grateful  heart : 
Cleansed  in  thine  own  all-purifying  blood, 
Forgive  their  evil,  and  accept  their  good  ; 
I  cast  them  at  thy  feet — my  only  ])lea 
Is  what  it  was,  dependence  upon  Thee; 
While  struggling  in  the  vale  of  tears  below, 
That  never  failVl,  nor  shall  it  fail  me  now." 

Angelic  gratulations  rend  the  skies,  587 

Pride  falls  uni)itied,  never  more  to  rise. 
Humility  is  crown'd,  and  Faith  receives  the  prize. 


EXPOSTULATION. 


Tantane,  tam  patiens,  nullo  certamine  tolli' 
Dona  fines  ?  ViRQ. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Why  should  the  Muse  weep  for  England?  her  outward  prosperity  great,  1— Sinful 
condition  of  Israel,  when,  the  prophet  wept  for  her,  33— His  warnings  despised, 
69— The  captivity,  73— When  nations  are  to  perish,  the  decay  commences  in  the 
Church,  95— State  of  the  Jewish  Church  and  people,  when  Messiah  came,  123— 
The  unequalled  privileges  of  the  Jews, '161— Their  day  of  grace  abused,  213— 
Their  fall  and  dispersion,  225— Warning  and  lesson  from  their  history,  especially 
to  Britain,  241  — Her  sins  and  dangers,  272 — Untoward  public  events  traced  to  an 
adverse  Providence,  310— Call  to  the  nation  to  self  judgment,  3^0- Her  unsanctified 
pride  and  ambition,  346— Her  conduct  to  India,  364— Abuse  of  the  sacrament,  and 
false  swearing,  376— Long  deferred  and  hypocritical  fasts,  390— Character  of  the 
priesthood,  438— Of  the  people,  450— Ancient  history  and  origin  of  the  nation, 
466— Benefits  of  the  Roman  conquest,  474— Introduction  of  the  Gospel,  5U0— 
Darkened  by  Popish  tyranny,  508— Degraded  and  enslaved  condition  of  the  peo- 
ple, 526— Subsecjuent  blessings  of  Providence,  cause  of  gratitude  and  love  to 
Him,  562— Duty  to  serve  him  and  secure  his  favor,  644— Under  his  guardianship, 
all  dangers  may  be  defied,  694— The  poet  believes  that  his  expostulation  is  iu 
Tain,  718. 

Why  weeps  tlie  Muse  for  England?     What  appears 

In  England's  case  to  move  the  Muse  to  tears? 

From  side  to  side  of  lier  delightful  isle, 

Is  she  not  clothed  witli  a  i)erpetual  smile  ? 

Can  Nature  add  a  cliarm,  or  Art  confer 

A  new-found  luxury  not  seen  in  her? 

"Where  under  heaven  is  pleasure  more  pursued, 

Or  Avhere  does  cold  reflection  less  intrude  ? 

Her  fields  a  rich  expanse  of  wavy  corn 

Pour'd  out  from  Plenty's  overflowing  horn; 

Ambrosial  gardens,  in  which  art  supplies 

The  fervor  and  the  force  of  Indian  skies ; 

Her  peaceful  shores,  where  busy  Commerce  waits     13 


YG  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  ponr  his  golden  tide  through  all  her  gates ; 

"Whom  fiery  suns,  that  scorch  the  russet  spice 

Of  eastern  groves,  and  oceans  floored  with  ice, 

Porbid  in  vain  to  push  his  daring  way 

To  darker  climes,  or  climes  of  brighter  day ; 

"Whom  the  winds  waft  where'er  the  billows  roll, 

From  tke  World's  girdle  to  the  frozen  pole; 

The  chariots  bounding  in  her  wheel-worn  streets, 

Her  vaults  below,  where  every  vintage  meets ; 

Her  theatres,  her  revels,  and  her  sports,  23 

The  scenes  to  w^hich  not  youth  alone  resorts, 

But  age,  in  spite  of  weakness  and  of  pain, 

Still  haunts.  In  hope  to  dream  of  youth  again  ;- 

All  speak  her  liappy :  let  the  Muse  look  round 

From  East  to  West,  no  sorrow  can  be  found, 

Or  only  what,  in  cottages  confined. 

Sighs  unregarded  to  the  passing  wind. 

Then  wiierefore  w^eep  for  England?     What  appears 

In  England's  case  to  move  the  Muse  to  tears? 

The  prophet  wept  for  Israel ;  wish'd  his  eyes 
Were  fountains  fed  with  infinite  supplies;  34 

For  Israel  dealt  in  robbery  and  w^rong ; 
There  were  the  scorner's  and  the  slanderer's  tongue ; 
Oaths,  used  as  playthings  or  convenient  tools, 
As  interest  bias'd  knaves,  or  fashion  fools ; 
Adultery,  neighing  at  his  neighbor's  door ; 
Oppression  laboring  hard  to  grind  the  poor; 
The  partial  balance  and  deceitful  weight; 
The  treacherous  smile,  a  mask  for  secret  hate ; 
Hypocrisy,  formality  in  prayer. 
And  the  dull  service  of  the  lip  were  there. 
Her  women,  insolent  and  self-caress'd,  45 

By  Vanity's  unwearied  finger  dress'd. 
Forgot  the  blush  tliat  virgin  fears  impart 
To  modest  cheeks,  and  borrow'd  one  from  art; 
Were  just  such  trifles,  without  worth  or  use. 
As  silly  pride  and  idleness  produce : 
Curl'd,  scented,  furbelow'd,  and  flounced  around, 
"With  feet  too  delicate  to  touch  the  ground. 
They  stretch'd  the  neck,  and  roll'd  the  wanton  eye, 
And  sigli'd  for  every  fool  that  flutter'd  by. 

He  saw  his  people  slaves  to  every  lust, 
Lewd,  avaricious,  arrogant,  unjust;  5G 


I 


EXPOSTULATION.  77 

lie  heard  the  wheels  of  an  avenging  God 

Groan  heavily  along  the  distant  road ; 

Saw  Babylon  set  wide  her  two-leaved  brass, 

To  let  the  military  deluge  pass ; 

Jerusalem  a  prey,  her  glory  soiPd, 

Iler  princes  captive,  and  her  treasures  spoiled ; 

Wept  till  all  Israel  heard  his  bitter  cry, 

StampVl  with  his  foot,  and  smote  upon  his  thigh  : 

But  w^ept,  and  stamp'd,  and  smote  his  thigh  in  vain; 

Pleasure  is  deaf,  when  told  of  future  pain,  G6 

And  sounds  prophetic  are  too  rough  to  suit 

Ears  long  accustomed  to  the  pleasing  lute: 

They  scorned  his  inspiration  and  his  theme. 

Pronounced  him  frantic,  and  his  fears  a  dream ; 

With  self-indulgence  wing'd  the  fleeting  hours. 

Till  the  foe  found  them,  and  down  fell  the  towers. 

Long  time  Assyria  bound  them  in  her  chain, 
Till  penitence  had  purged  the  public  stain, 
And  Cyrus,  with  relenting  i)ity  moved, 
Eeturn'd  them  happy  to  the  land  they  loved ; 
There,  proof  against  Prosperity,  awhile  77 

They  stood  the  test  of  her  ensnaring  smile. 
And  had  the  grace  in  scenes  of  peace  to  show 
The  virtue  they  had  learn VI  in  scenes  of  w^oe. 
But  man  is  frail,  and  can  but  ill  sustain 
A  long  immunity  from  grief  and  pain; 
And  after  all  tlie  joys  that  Plenty  leads. 
With  tiptoe  step.  Vice  silently  succeeds. 

When  lie  that  ruled  them  with  a  shepherd's  rod, 
In  form  a  man,  in  dignity  a  God, 
Came,  not  expected  in  that  humble  guise, 
To  sift  and  search  them  with  unerring  eyes,  88 

He  found  concealed  beneath  a  fair  outside. 
The  filth  of  rottenness,  and  worm  of  pride ; 
Their  piety  a  system  of  deceit. 
Scripture  employ'd  to  sanctify  the  cheat; 
The  Pharisee  the  dupe  of  his  own  art, 
Selfridolized,  and  yet  a  knave  at  heart. 

When  nations  are  to  perish  in  their  sins, 
'Tis  in  the  Church  the  leprosy  begins : 
The  priest,  whose  office  is,  with  zeal  siacere. 
To  watch  the  fountain,  and  jireserve  it  clear, 
Carelessly  nods  and  sleeps  upon  the  brink,  99 


*IS  cowper's  poetical  works. 

While  others  poison  what  the  flock  must  drink; 

Or,  waking  at  the  call  of  lust  alone, 

Infuses  lies  and  errors  of  his  own.: 

His  unsuspecting  sheep  believe  it  pure, 

And,  tainted  by  the  very  means  of  cure, 

Catch  from  each  other  a  contagious  spot, 

The  foul  forerunner  of  a  general  rot. 

Then  Truth  is  hushVl,  that  Heresy  may  preach, 

And  all  is  trash  that  Reason  cannot  reach ; 

Then  God's  own  image  on  the  soul  impress'd  109 

Becomes  a  mockery  and  a  standing  jest; 

And  Faith,  the  root  whence  only  can  arise 

The  graces  of  a  life  that  wins  the  skies, 

Loses  at  once  all  value  and  esteem, 

Pronounced  by  graybeards  a  pernicious  dream : 

Then  Ceremony  leads  her  bigots  forth. 

Prepared  to  fight  for  shadows  of  no  worth ; 

While  truths,  on  which  eternal  things  depend, 

Pind  not,  or  hardly  find,  a  single  friend : 

As  soldiers  watch  the  signal  of  command. 

They  learn  to  bow,  to  kneel,  to  sit,  to  stand ;  120 

Happy  to  fill  religion's  vacant  place 

"With  hollow  form,  and  gesture,  and  grimace. 

Such,  when  the  Teacher  of  his  Church  was  there, 
People  and  priest,  the  sons  of  Israel  were  ; 
Stiff"  in  the  letter,  lax  in  the  design 
And  import,  of  their  oracles  divine; 
Their  learning  legendary,  fVilse,  absurd. 
And  yet  exalted  above  God's  own  Word ; 
They  drew  a  curse  from  an  intended  good, 
Puft^'d  up  with  gifts  they  never  understood. 
He  judged  them  with  as  terrible  a  frown,  131  J 

As  if,  not  love,  but  wrath,  had  brought  him  down: 
Yet  he  was  gentle  as  soft  summer  airs. 
Had  grace  for  others'  sins,  but  none  for  theirs. 
Through  all  he  spoke  a  noble  plainness  ran; 
Ehetoric  is  artifice,  the  work  of  man, 
And  tricks  and  turns,  that  fancy  may  devise. 
Are  far  too  mean  for  Him  that  rules  the  skies. 
The  astonish'd  vulgar  trembled  while  he  tore 
The  mask  frorA  faces  never  seen  before ; 
He  stripp'd  the  impostors  in  the  noonday  sun, 
Show'd  that  they  follow'd  all  they  seem'd  to  shun ;    142 


EXPOSTULATION.  Y9 

Their  prayers  made  public,  their  excesses  kept 

As  private  as  the  chambers  wliere  tliey  slept; 

The  temple  and  its  holy  rites  profaned 

By  mummeries  lie  that  dwelt  in  it  disdain\l ; 

Uplifted  hands,  that  at  convenient  times 

Could  act  extortion  and  the  worst  of  crimes, 

"Wash'd  with  a  neatness  scrupulously  nice. 

And  fre-e  from  every  taint  but  that  of  vice. 

Judgment,  however  tardy,  mends  her  pace 

When  Obstinacy  once  has  conquerVl  Grace.  152 

They  saw  distemper  heal'd,  and"  life  restored, 

In  answer  to  the  fiat  of  his  word ; 

Confess'd  the  wonder,  and  with  daring  tongue 

Blasphemed  the  authority  from  whicli  it  sprung. 

They  knew,  by  sure  prognostics  seen  on  high, 

The  future  tone  and  temper  of  the  sky; 

But,  grave  dissemblers !  could  not  understand 

That  Sin  let  loose  speaks  Punishment  at  hand. 

Ask  now  of  History's  authentic  page, 
And  call  up  evidence  from  every  age ; 
Display  with  busy  and  laborious  hand  163 

The  blessings  of  the  most  indebted  land ; 
What  nation  will  you  find,  whose  annals  prove 
So  rich  an  interest  in  Almighty  love? 
Where  dwell  they  now,  where  dwelt  in  ancient  day 
A  people  planted,  water'd,  blest,  as  they  ? 
Let  Egypt's  plagues  and  Canaan's  woes  proclaim 
The  favors  pour'd  upon  the  Jewish  name ; 
Their  freedom  purchased  for  them,  at  the  cost 
Of  all  their  hard  oppressors  valued  most ; 
Their  title  to  a  country  not  their  own 
Made  sure  by  prodigies  till  then  unknown;  174 

For  them,  the  State  they  left  made  waste  and  void ; 
For  them,  the  States  to  which  they  went  destroy'd ; 
A  cloud  to  measure  out  their  march  by  day, 
By  night  a  fire  to  cheer  the  gloomy  w^ay ; 
That  moving  signal  summoning,  when  best, 
Their  host  to  move,  and,  when  it  stayVl,  to  rest. 
For  them  the  rocks  dissolved  into  a  flood. 
The  dews  condensed  into  angelic  food ; 
•  Their  very  garments  sacred,  old  yet  new, 
And  Time  forbid  to  touch  them  as  he  flew ; 
Streams,  swell'd  above  the  bank,  enjoin'd  to  stand      185 


80  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

While  they  pass\l  through  to  their  appointed  land; 
Their  leader  arniVl  with  meekness,  zeal,  and  love, 
And  graced  with  clear  credentials  from  above; 
Themselves  secured  beneath  the  Almighty  wing, 
Their  God  their  captain,  lawgiver,  and  king; 
CrownVl  with  a  thousand  victories,  and  at  last 
Lords  of  the  concjuer'd  soil,  there  rooted  fast, 
In  peace  possessing  what  they  w^on  by  w^ar, 
Their  name  far  publisli'd,  and  revered  as  far; 
•  Where  will  you  find  a  race  like  theirs,  endowed  195 

With  all  that  man  e'er  Avish'd,  or  heaven  bestowed? 

They,  and  they  only,  amongst  all  mankind, 
Eeceived  the  transcript  of  the  Eternal  Mind; 
Were  trusted  with  his  owm  engraven  laws, 
And  constituted  guardians  of  his  cause; 
Tlieirs  were  the  pro])hets,  theirs  the  priestly  call. 
And  theirs  by  birth  the  Saviour  of  us  all. 
In  vain  the  nations  that  had  seen  them  rise. 
With  fierce  and  envious  yet  admiring  eyes. 
Had  sought  to  crush  them,  guarded  as  they  were 
-Ky  powder  divine,  and  skill  that  could  not  err.  206 

Had  they  maintain'd  allegiance  firm  and  sure. 
And  ke[»t  the  faith  immaculate  and  ])ure, 
Then  the  proud  eagles  of  all-concjuering  Rome 
Had  found  one  city  not  to  be  overcome ; 
And  the  twelve  standards  of  the  tribes  unfurPd, 
Had  bid  defiance  to  the  warring  world. 
Hut  grace  abused  brings  forth  the  foulest  deeds. 
As  richest  soil  the  most  luxuriant  w^eeds  ; 
-Cured  of  the  golden  calves,  their  fathers'  sin, 
"They  set  up  self,  that  idol  god  within; 
Yiew'd  a  Deliverer  with  disdain  and  hate,  21T 

WHio  left  them  still  a  tributary  state; 
Seized  fast  his  hand,  held  out  to  set  them  free 
From  a  worse  yoke,  and  nail'd  it  to  the  tree. 
There  was  the  consummation  and  the  crown. 
The  flower  of  Israel's  infamy  full  blown; 
Thence  date  their  sad  declension  and  their  fall, 
Their  woes,  not  yet  repeal'd,  thence  date  them  all. 

Thus  fell  the  best  instructed  in  her  day. 
And  the  most  favor'd  land,  look  wiiere  we  may. 
Philosophy  indeed  on  Grecian  eyes 
Had  pour'd  the  day,  and  clear'd  the  Roman  skies :       228 


EXPOSTULATION.  81 

In  otlier  climes  perhaps  creative  Art, 

With  power  surpassing  theirs,  performVI  her  part; 

Might  give  more  life  to  marble,  or  might  fill 

The  glowing  tablets  with  a  juster  skill; 

Might  shine  in  ftible,  and  grace  idle  themes 

AVith  all  the  embroidery  of  poetic  dreams : 

'Twas  theirs  alone  to  dive  into  the  plan 

That  Truth  and  Mercy  had  reveaPd  to  man. 

And  wliile  the  World  beside,  that  plan  unknown, 

Deified  useless  wood  or  senseless-stone,  238 

They  breathed  in  faith  their  well-directed  prayers, 

And  the  true  God,  the  God  of  truth,  was  theirs. 

Their  glory  faded,  and  their  race  dispersed. 
The  last  of  nations  now,  though  once  the  first; 
They  warn  and  teach  the  proudest,  would  they  learn — 
Keep  wisdom,  or  meet  vengeance  in  your  turn ! 
If  w^e  escaped  not,  if  Heaven  spared  not  us, 
PeeFd,  scatterVl,  and  exterminated  thus ; 
If  Vice  received  her  retribution  due 
When  we  were  visited,  what  hope  for  you? 
When  God  arises  with  an  awful  frown,  249 

To  puni.sli  lust,  or  pluck  presumption  down; 
When  gifts  perverted,  or  not  duly  prized, 
Pleasure  overvalued,  and  his  grace  despised, 
Provoke  the  vengeance  of  his  righteous  hand 
To  pour  down  wrath  upon  a  thankless  land, 
He  will  be  found  impartially  severe. 
Too  just  to  wink,  or  speak  the  guilty  clear. 

O  Israel,  of  all  nations  most  undone ! 
Thy  diadem  displaced,  thy  sceptre  gone ; 
Thy  temple,  once  thy  glory,  ftdlen  and  razed. 
And  thou  a  worshipper  even  where  thou  mayst;         2G0 
Thy  services,  once  holy  without  spot, 
Mere  shadows  now,  their  ancient  pomp  forgot ; 
Thy  Levities,  once  a  consecrated  host. 
No  longer  Levites,  and  their  lineage  lost; 
And  thou  thyself  o'er  every  country  sown. 
With  none  on  earth  that  thou  canst  call  thine  own ; 
Cry  aloud,  thou  that  sittest  in  the  dust. 
Cry  to  the  proud,  the  cruel,  and  unjust; 
Knock  at  the  gates  of  nations,'  rouse  their  fears, 
Say  wrath  is  coming,  and  thestorm  appears, 
But  raise  the  shrillest  cry  in  British  ears.  271 


62 


"What  ails  tliee,  restless  as  tlie  waves  that  roar, 
And  fling  their  foam  against  thy  chalky  shore? 
Mistress,  at  least  while  Providence  shall  please. 
And  trident-hearing  queen  of  the  wide  seas — 
Why,  having  kept  good  faith,  and  often  shown 
Triendship  and  truth  to  others,  lind'st  thou  none  ? 
Thou  that  hast  set  the  persecuted  free, 
[None  interposes  now  to  succor  thee ; 
Countries  indebted  to  thy  power,  that  shine 
"With  light  derived  from  thee,  would  smother  thine ;  281 
Thy  very  children  watch  for  thy  disgrace, 
A  lawless  brood,  and  curse  thee  to  thy  fiice ; 
Thy  rulers  load  thy  credit,  year  by  year, 
"With  sums  Peruvian  mines  could  never  clear; 
As  if,  like  arclies  built  witli  skilfal  hand, 
The  more  'twere  press'd  the  iirmer  it  would  stand. 

The  cry  in  all  thy  ships  is  still  the  same, 
Speed  us  away  to  battle  and  to  lame! 
Thy  mariners  explore  the  wild  expanse. 
Impatient  to  descry  the  flags  of  France : 
l^ut,  though  they  flght  as  tliine  have  ever  fought,        292 
IReturn  ashamed  without  the  wreaths  they  sought. 
Thy  senate  is  a  scene  of  civil  jar, 
Chaos  of  contrarieties  at  war, 
"Where  sharp  and  solid,  phlegmatic  and  light, 
Discordant  atoms  meet,  ferment,  and  fight ; 
"Where  Obstinacy  takes  his  sturdy  stand, 
To  disconcert  what  Policy  has  plann'd ; 
"Where  Policy  is  busied  all  night  long 
In  setting  right  wdiat  Faction  has  set  wrong ; 
Where  flails  of  oratory  thresh  the  floor, 
That  yields  them  chaff  and  dust,  and  nothing  more.    303 
Thy  rack'd  inhabitants  repine,  complain, 
Tax'd  till  the  brow  of  Labor  sweats  in  vain ; 
W^ar  lays  a  burden  on  the  reeling  state. 
And  Peace  does  nothing  to  relieve  the  weight ; 
Successive  loads  succeeding  broils  impose. 
And  sighing  millions  prophesy  the  close. 

Is  adverse  Providence,  when  ponder'd  well, 
So  dimly  writ,  or  difficult  to  spell. 
Thou  canst  not  read  witli  readiness  and  ease. 
Providence  adverse  in  events  like  these? 
Know  then,  that  heavenly  wisdom  on  this  ball  314 


EXPOSTULATION.  83 

Creates,  gives  birth  to,  guides,  consummates  all; 

That,  while  laborious  and  quick-thoughted  man 

Snuffs  up  the  praise  of  what  he  seems  to  plan, 

lie  first  conceives,  then  perfects  his  design, 

As  a  mere  instrument  in  hands  divine: 

Blind  to  tlie  working  of  that  secret  power 

That  balances  the  wings  of  every  hour, 

The  busy  trifler  dreams  himself  alone, 

Frames  many  a  puri)Ose,  and  God  works  his  own. 

States  thrive  or  whither  as  moons  wax  and  wane,         324' 

Even  as  his  will  and  his  decrees  ordain ; 

While  honor,  virtue,  piety  bear  swa}^. 

They  flourish  ;  and  as  these  decline,  decay. 

In  just  resentment  of  his  injured  laws. 

He  pours  contempt  on  them  and  on  their  cause; 

Strikes  the  rough  thread  of  error  right  athwart 

The  web  of  every  scheme  they  have  at  heart; 

Bids  rottenness  invade  and  bring  to  dust 

The  pillars  of  support  in  which  they  trust, 

And  do  his  errand  of  disgrace  and  shame 

Gn  the  chief  strength  and  glory  of  the  frame.  835 

None  ever  yet  impeded  what  He  wrought, 

None  bars  Him  out  from  his  most  secret  thought: 

Darkness  itself  before  His  eye  is  light. 

And  helFs  close  mischief  naked  in  His  sight. 

Stand  now  and  judge  thyself— Ilast  thou  incurred 
His  anger  who  can  waste  thee  with  a  word. 
Who  poises  and  proportions  sea  and  land, 
Weighing  them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
And  in  Avhose  aw^ful  sight  all  nations  seem 
As  grasshoppers,  as  dust,  a  drop,  a  dream  ? 
Hast  thou  (a  sacrilege  his  soul  abhors)  346 

Claim'd  all  the  glory  of  thy  prosperous  wars  ? 
Proud  of  thy  fleets  and  armies,  stolen  the  gem 
Of  his  just  praise,  to  lavish  it  on  them? 
Hast  thou  not  learn'd,  what  thou  art  often  told, 
A  truth  still  sacred,  and  believed  of  old. 
That  no  success  attends  on  spears  and  swords 
Unblest,  and  that  the  battle  is  the  Lord's  ? 
That  Courage  is  his  creature,  and  Dismay 
The  post  that  at  his  bidding  speeds  away. 
Ghastly  in  feature,  and  his  stammering  tongue 
With  doleful  rumor  and  sad  presage  hung,  357 


86  COWPER^S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

As  meek  as  the  man  Moses,  and  withal 
As  bold  as  in  Agrippa's  presence  Paul, 
Should  fly  tlie  world's  contaminating  touch, 
Holy  and  unpolluted  : — are  thine  such  ? 
Except  a  few  with  Eli's  spirit  blest, 
Ilophni  and  Phineas  may  describe  the  rest, 

AVhere  shall  a  teacher  look,  in  days  like  these, 
For  ears  and  hearts  that  he  can  hope  to  i)lease  ? 
Look  to  the  poor — the  simple  and  the  plain 
"Will  hear  perhaps  thy  salutary  strain ;  453 

Humility  is  gentle,  apt  to  learn, 
Speak  but  the  word,  will  listen  and  return. 
Alas  !  not  so ;  the  poorest  of  the  flock 
Are  proud,  and  set  their  faces  as  a  rock; 
Denied  that  earthly  opulence  they  clioose, 
God's  better  gift  they  scoff  at  and  refuse. 
The  rich,  the  produce  of  a  nobler  stem, 
Are  more  intelligent,  at  least — try  them. 
Oh,  vain  inquiry!  they  without  remorse 
Are  altogether  gone  a  devious  course ; 
AVhere  beckoning  Pleasure  leads  them,  wildly  stray ;    464 
Have  burst  the  bands,  and  cast  the  yoke  away. 

Now  borne  upon  the  wings  of  truth  sublime, 
Heview  thy  dim  original  and  prime! 
This  island,  spot  of  unreclaim'd  rude  earth. 
The  cradle  that  received  thee  at  thy  birth, 
"Was  rock'd  by  many  a  rough  Norwegian  blast, 
And  Danish  bowlings  scared  thee  as  they  pass'd ; 
Eor  thou  wast  born  amid  the  din  of  arms, 
And  suck'd  a  breast  that  panted  with  alarms. 
"While  yet  thou  w^ast  a  grovelling,  puling  chit. 
Thy  bones  not  fashion'd,  and  thy  joints  not  knit,        475 
The  Roman  taught  thy  stubborn  knee  to  bow, 
-  Though  twice  a  Cffisar  could  not  bend  thee  now : 
His  victory  was  that  of  orient  light, 
"When  the  sun's  shafts  disperse  the  gloom  of  night. 
Thy  language  at  this  distant  moment  shows 
How  nmch  the  country  to  the  conqueror  owes; 
Expressive,  energetic,  and  refined. 
It  sparkles  Avith  the  gems  he  left  behind. 
He  brought  thy  land  a  blessing  when  he  came, 
He  found  thee  savage,  and  he  left  thee  tame : 
Taught  thee  to  clothe  thy  pink'd  and  painted  hide, 


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I 


88  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Themselves  the  slaves  of  bigotry  or  lust, 

Disdain'd  thy  counsels,  only  in  distress 

Found  thee  a  goodly  sponge  for  Power  to  press. 

Thy  chiefs,  the  lords  of  many  a  petty  fee, 

Provoked  and  harass'd,  in  return  plagued  thee ; 

Caird  tliee  away  from  peaceable  employ, 

Domestic  happiness,  and  rural  joy. 

To  waste  thy  life  in  arms,  or  lay  it  down 

In  causeless  feuds  and  bickerings  of  their  own  ; 

Thy  parliaments  adored,  on  bended  knees,  538 

The  sovereignty  tliey  were  convened  to  please; 

Whate'er  was  ask'd,  too  timid  to  resist, 

Complied  with,  and  were  graciously  dismissM ; 

And  if  some  Spartan  soul  a  doubt  expressed, 

And,  blushing  at  the  tameness  of  the  rest. 

Dared  to  suppose  the  subject  had  a  choice. 

He  was  a  traitor  by  the  general  voice. 

Oh,  slave!  with  powers  thou  didst  not  dare  exert, 

Verse  cannot  stoop  so  low  as  thy  desert! 

It  shakes  the  sides  of  splenetic  Disdain, 

Thou  self-entitled  ruler  of  the  main,  549 

To  trace  thee  to  the  date  when  yon  fair  sea 

That  clips  thy  shores,  had  no  such  charms  for  thee; 

When  other  nations  tlew  from  coast  to  coast. 

And  thou  hadst  neither  fleet  nor  flag  to  boast. 

Kneel  now,  and  lay  thy  foreliead  in  the  dust! 

Blush,  if  thou  canst;  not  petrified,  thou  must; 

Act  but. an  honest  and  a  faithful  part. 

Compare  what  then  thou  wast,  with  what  thou  art; 

And  God's  disposing  providence  confessed, 

Obduracy  itself  must  yield  the  rest. — 

Then  thou  art  bound  to  serve  him,  and  to  prove,         560 

Hour  after  hour,  thy  gratitude  and  love. 

Has  he  not  hid  thee  and  thy  favorVl  land, 
For  ages,  safe  beneath  his  slieltering  hand — 
Given  thee  his  blessing  on  the  clearest  proof, 
Bid  nations  leagued  against  thee  stand  aloof, 
And  charged  Hostility  and  Hate  to  roar 
Where  else  they  would,  but  not  upon  thy  shore? 
His  power  secured  thee,  when  presumptuous  Spain 
Baptized  her  fleet  Invincible  in  vain ; 
Her  gloomy  monarch,  doubtful  and  resigned 
To  every  pang  that  racks  an  anxious  mind, 


EXPOSTULATION.  89 

AftkM  of  the  waves  that  broke  upon  Ins  coast, 

What  tidings?  and  the  surge  rephed — x\ll  lost! 

And  wiien  the  Stuart,  leaning  on  the  Scot, 

Tlien  too  much  fear'd,  and  now  too  much  forgot, 

Pierced  to  the  very  centre  of  the  realm, 

And  hoped  to  seize  his  abdicated  helm, 

'Twas  but  to  prove  how  quickly,  with  a  frown, 

He  that  had  raised  tliee  could  have  pluck'd  thee  down. 

Peculiar  is  the  grace  by  thee  possess'd, 

Tliy  foes  implacable,  thy  land  at  rest;  581 

Thy  thunders  travel  over  earth  and  seas, 

And  all  at  home  is  pleasure,  wealth,  and  ease. 

'Tis  thus,  extending  his  tempestuous  arm, 

Tliy  Maker  fills  the  nations  Avith  alarm;  , 

While  his  own  heaven  surveys  the  troubled  scene, 

And  feels  no  change,  unshaken  and  serene. 

Freedom,  in  other  lands  scarce  known  to  shine, 

Pours  out  a  flood  of  splendor  upon  thine; 

Thou  hast  as  bright  an  interest  in  her  rays 

As  ever  Roman  liad  in  Rome's  best  days. 

True  freedom  is  where  no  restraint  is  known  592 

Tliat  Scripture,  justice,  and  good  sense  disown; 

Where  only  vice  and  injury  are  tied, 

And  all  from  shore  to  shore  is  free  beside. 

Such  freedom  is — and  Windsor's  hoary  towers 

Stood  trembling  at  the  boldness  of  tliy  powers, 

That  won  a  nymph  on  that  immortal  plain. 

Like  her  the  tabled  Phoebus  woo'd  in  vain: 

He  found  the  laurel  only — happier  you, 

The  unfading  laurel  ancl  the  virgin  too!^ 

Now  think,  if  Pleasure  have  a  thought  to  spare; 
If  God  himself  be  not  beneath  her  care ;  603 

If  Business,  constant  as  the  wheels  of  time. 
Can  pause  an  hour  to  read  a  serious  rhyme; 
If  the  new  mail  thy  merchants  now  receive. 
Or  expectation  of  the  next,  give  leave; 
Oh,  tliink,  if  chargeable  with  deep  arrears 
For  such  indulgence,  gilding  all  thy  years, 
How  much,  though  long  neglected,  shining  yet. 
The  beams  of  heavenly  truth  have  swelPd  the  debt ! 

1  Alluding  to  the  grant  of  Magna  Charta,  which  was  extorted  from  King: 
John  by  the  barons  at  Kunnymede,  near  Windsor. 


90  co"\vper's  poetical  works. 

"Wlien  persecuting  zeal  made  royal  sport 

"VVitii  tortured  innocence  in  Mary's  court; 

And  Bonner,  blithe  as  shepherd  at  a  wake, 

Enjoy'd  the  show,  and  danced  about  the  stake; 

The  sacred  Book,  its  value  understood, 

Received  the  seal  of  martyrdom  in  blood. 

Those  holy  men,  so  full  of  truth  and  grace, 

Seem  to  reflection  of  a  dilferent  race ; 

Meek,  modest,  venerable,  wise,  sincere, 

In  such  a  cause  they  could  not  dare  to  fear ;  621 

They  could  not  purchase  earth  with  sucli  a  prize, 

Or  spare  a  life  too  short  to  reach  the  skies. 

From  them  to  thee  conveyed  along  the  tide. 

Their  streaming  liearts  pour'd  freely  when  they  died  • 

Those  truths,  which  neither  use  nor  years  impair, 

Invite  thee,  avoo  thee,  to  the  bliss  they  share. 

What  dotage  will  not  Vanity  maintain? 

What  web  too  weak  to  catch  a  modern  brain? 

The  moles  and  bats  in  full  assembly  find. 

On  special  search,  the  keen -eyed  eagle  bhnd. 

And  did  they  dream,  and  art  thou  wiser  now  ?  632 

Prove  it :  if  better,  I  submit  and  bow. 

Wisdom  and  Goodness  are  twm-born,  one  heart 

Must  hold  both  sisters,  never  seen  apart. 

So  then — as  darkness  overspread  the  deep. 

Ere  Nature  rose  from  her  eternal  sleep, 

And  this  delightful  earth,  and  that  fair  sky, 

Leap'd  out  of  nothing,  calPd  by  the  Most  High  ; 

By  such  a  change  thy  darkness  is  made  light. 

Thy  chaos  order,  and  thy-  weakness  might ; 

And  He,  whose  power  mere  nullity  obeys. 

Who  found  thee  nothing,  form'd  thee  for  his  praise.    643 

To  praise  him  is  to  serve  him,  and  fulfil. 

Doing  and  suffering,  his  unquestion'd  will ; 

'Tis  to  believe  what  men  inspired  of  old, 

Faithfulj  and  faithfully  informed,  unfold ; 

Candid  and  just,  with  no  false  aim  in  view. 

To  take  for  truth  what  cannot  but  be  true ; 

To  learn  in  God's  own  school  the  Christian  part, 

And  bind  the  task  assign'd  thee  to  thine  heart : 

Happy  the  man  there  seeking  and  there  found ! 

Happy  the  nation  where  such  men  abound ! 

How  shall  a  verse  impress  thee  ?  by  what  name      C54 


EXPOSTULATION.  Ol 

Shall  I  adjure  thee  not  to  court  thy  shame?' 

By  theirs  whose  bright  example,  unimpeach'd, 

Directs  thee  to  that  eminence  they  reacli'd, 

Heroes  an'd  worthies  of  days  past,  tliy  sires? 

Or  His,  who  touch VI  their  hearts  with  hallow'd.  fires? 

Their  names,  alas!  in  vain  reproach  an. age, 

AVhom  all  the  vanities  they  scorn'd  engage; 

And  His,  tliat  serai)hs  tremble  at,  is  hung 

Disgracefully  on  every  trifler's  tongue, 

Gr  serves  the  champion  in  forensic  war  604 

To  flourish  and  parade  with  at  the  bar. 

Pleasure  herself  perhaps  suggests  a  plea, 

If  interest  move  thee,  to  persuade  even  thee; 

By  every  charm  that  smiles  uj)on  her  face. 

By  joys  possess'd,  and  joys  still  held  in  chase, 

If  dear  society  be  worth  a  thought. 

And  if  the  feast  of  freedom  cloy  thee  not, 

Keflect  that  these,  and  all  that  seems  thine  own, 

Held  by  the  tenure  of  his  will  alone. 

Like  angels  in  the  service  of  their  Lord, 

Remain  with  thee,  or  leave  thee  at  his  Avord;  C75 

That  gratitude,  and  temperance  in  our  use 

Of  what  he  gives,  unsparing  and  profuse, 

Secure  the  favor,  and  enhance  the  joy. 

That  thankless  waste  and  wild  abuse  destroy. 

But  above  all  reflect,  how  cheap  soe'er 
Those  rights  that  millions  envy  thee,  appear. 
And  though  resolved  to  risk  them,  and  swim  down 
The  tide  of  pleasure,  heedless  of  His  frown, — 
That  blessings  truly  sacred,  and  when  given 
Marked  with  the  signature  and  stamp  of  heaven, 
The  Word  of  prophecy,  those  truths  divine,  686 

Which  make  that  heaven,  if  thou  desire  it,  thine 
(Awful  alternative !  believed,  beloved. 
Thy  glory,  and  thy  shame  if  unimproved), 
Are  never  long  vouchsafed,  if  push'd  aside 
With  cold  disgust  or  philosophic  pride ; 
And  that,  judicially  withdrawn,  disgrace, 
Error,  and  darkness  occupy  their  place. 

A  world  is  up  in  arms,  and  thou,  a  spot 
l^ot  quickly  found  if  negligently  sought. 
Thy  soul  as  ample  as  thy  bounds  are  small, 
Endurest  the  brunt,  and  darest  defy  them  all :  697 


92  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  wilt  thou  join  to  this  hold  enterprise 

A  bolder  still,  a  contest  with  the  skies? 

Remember,  if  He  guard  thee  and  secure, 

Whoe'er  assails  thee,  thy  success  is  sure ; 

But  if  He  leave  thee,  though  the  skill  and  power 

Of  nations,  sworn  to  spoil  thee  and  devour, 

Were  all  collected  in  thy  single  arm, 

And  thou  couldst  laugh  away  the  fear  of  harm, 

That  strength  would  fail,  opposed  against  the  push 

And  feeble  onset  of  a  pigmy  rush.  70T 

Say  not  (and  if  the  thought  of  such  defence 
Should  spring  within  thy  bosom,  drive  it  thence) 
What  nation  amongst  all  my  foes  is  free 
From  crimes  as  base  as  any  charged  on  me? 
Their  measure  fillM,  they  too  shall  pay  the  debt, 
Which  God,  though  long  forborne,  will  not  forget: 
But  know,  that  Wrath  divine,  when  most  severe, 
Makes  justice  still  the  guide  of  his  career. 
And  will  not  punish,  in  one  mingled  crowd. 
Them  without  light,  and  thee  without  a  cloud. 

Muse,  hang  tkis  harp  upon  yon  aged  beech,  Y18 

Still  murmuring  with  the  solenm  truths  I  teach; 
And  while,  at  intervals,  a  cold  blast  sings 
Through  the  dry  leaves,  and  pants  upon  the  strings, 
My  soul  shall  sigh  in  secret,  and  lament 
A  nation  scourged,  yet  tardy  to  repent. 
I  know  the  warning  song  is  sung  in  vain; 
That  few  will  liear,  and  i'ewQv  heed  the  strain: 
But  if  a  sweeter  voice,  and  one  design'd 
A  blessing  to  my  country  and  mankind. 
Reclaim  the  wandering  thousands,  and  bring  home 
A  flock  so  scattered,  and  so  wont  to  roam,  729 

Then  place  it  once  again  between  my  knees; 
The  sound  of  truth  will  then  be  sure  to  please; 
And  truth  alone,  where'er  my  life  be  cast, 
In  scenes  of  plenty,  or  the  pining  waste. 
Shall  be  my  chosen  theme,  my  glory  to  the  last. 


HOPE. 


-  doceas  iter,  et  sacra  ostia  j)an(las. 

YiiiQ.  j^n.  vi.  109. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 


Human  life,  different  views  of,  1— Nature  always  the  same,  althoufrh  she  appears  in 
different  hues  to  youth  and  age,  27— Vanity  and  weariness  of  fashionable  life,  75— 
Life  a  gilt  of  infinite  value,  115— The  attributes  of  the  Creator  inscribed  on  all  his 
■works,  133— Nature  the  handmaid  of  grace,  145 — Birth  and  character  of  Hope,  152 
—Corruption  of  humun  nature  shown  in  early  youth,  179— Farther  evidenced  in 
more  advanced  life,  197— Conscience  awakened  to  a  sense  of  sin,  215 — False  peace 
and  formal  devotion,  229— Empty  honors  attending  a  hopeless  death,  260— Each 
man's  belief  right  in  his  own  eyes,  276— Only  one  right  way  lo  eternal  life,  302— 
Offers  of  salvation  by  free  grace  repugnant  to  human  pride,  322— Loose  ideas  of  the 
•way  of  salvation,  357— Notwithstanding  the  light  of  science,  and  the  spread  of  the 
Gospel,  439— Reception  of  the  simple  truth  in  distant  Greenland,  465— Its  inhabit- 
ants in  their  unconverted  and  converted  state,  495— Vindication  of  Whitelield,  554 
—The  lover  of  pleasure  the  greatest  of  bigots,  594— Any  hope  preferred  to  the 
hope^of  the  Gospel,  614— Folly  ends  where  genuine  hope  begins,  635— Apostrophe 
lo  Truth,  663— The  sinner  couvicted,  G7i— i'ardoued,  710- Works  ol  truth  imperish- 
able, 742— Conclusion,  754. 

Ask  what  is  liniiian  life — tlie  sage  replies, 

With  disappointment  h)wering  in  Jiis  eyes,-— 

A  painful  passage  o'er  a  restless  flood, 

A  vain  pursuit  of  fugitive  false  good,  4 

A  scene  of  fancied  bliss  and  heartfelt  care, 

Closing  at  last  in  darkness  and  despair. — 

The  poor,  inured  to  drudgery  and  distress, 

Act  without  aim,  think  little,  and  feel  less. 

And  nowhere  but  in  feignVl  Arcadian  scenes. 

Taste  happiness,  or  know  what  pleasure  means. 

Riches  are  pass'd  away  from  hand  to  hand, 

As  fortune,  vice,  or  folly  may  command; 

As  in  a  dance  tlie  pair  that  take  the  lead 

Turn  downward,  and  the  lowest  pair  succeed, 

Bo  shifting  and  so  various  is  the  plan  15 


94  cowper's  poetical  works. 

By  which  Heaven  rules  the  inix'd  affairs  of  man ; 

Vicissitude  wheels  round  the  motley  crowd, 

The  rich  grow  poor,  the  poor  hecome  purse-proud: 

Business  is  labor,  and  man's  weakness  such, 

Pleasure  is  labor  too,  and  tires  as  much ; 

The  very  sense  of  it  foregoes  its  use, 

By  repetition  pall'd,  by  age  obtuse. 

Youth  lost  in  dissipation  Ave  deplore 

Through  life's  sad  remnant,  what  nc  sighs  restore ; 

Our  years,  a  fruitless  race  without  a  prize-,  25 

Too  many,  yet  too  few  to  make  us  wise. 

Dangling  his  cane  about,  and  taking  snuff, 
Lothario  cries,  ''  What  philosophic  stuff'! 
O  querulous  and  weak !  whose  useless  brain 
Once  thought  of  nothing,  and  now  thinks  in  vain; 
"Whose  eye  reverted  weeps  o'er  all  the  past, 
"Whose  prospect  shows  thee  a  disheartening  waste; 
Would  age  in  thee  resign  his  wintry  reign. 
And  youth  invigorate  that  frame  again, 
Renew'd  desire  would  grace  with  other  speech 
Joys  always  prized,  when  placed  within  our  reach.      86 

For  lift  thy  palsied  head,  shake  off  the  gloom 
That  overhangs  the  borders  of  thy  tomb ; 
See  Nature  gay,  as  when  she  first  began 
With  smiles  alluring  her  admirer,  Man ; 
She  spreads  the  morning  over  eastern  hills, 
Earth  glitters  with  the  drops  the  night  distils; 
The  sun,  obedient,  at  her  call  appears. 
To  fling  his  glories  o'er  the  robe  she  Avears ;       [sounds, 
Banks  clothed  Avith  floAvers,  groves  fill'd  Avith  sprightly 
The  yellow  tilth,  green  meads,  rocks,  rising  grounds. 
Streams  edged  Avith  osiers,  fottening  every  field  47 

AVhere'er  they  floAv,  noAv  seen  and  now  conceaPd ; 
From  the  blue  rim,  where  skies  and  mountains  meet, 
DoAvn  to  the  very  turf  beneath  thy  feet, 
Ten  thousand  charms,  that  only  fools  despise. 
Or  pride  can  look  at  Avith  indifierent  eyes. 
All  speak  one  language,  all  Avith  one  sAveet  A^oice 
Cry  to  her  universal  realm.  Rejoice! 
Man  feels  the  spur  of  passions  and  desires, 
And  she  gives  largely  more  than  he  requires; 
Not  that,  his  hours  devoted  all  to  Care, 
Hollow-eyed  Abstinence,  and  lean  Despair,  58 


HOPE.  95 

Tlie  wretcli  mcay  pine,  while  to  his  smell,  taste,  sight, 

She  hokls  a  Paradise  of  rich  delight; 

But  gently  to  rebuke  his  awkward  fear, 

To  prove  that  what  she  gives,  she  gives  sincere. 

To  banish  hesitation,  and  proclaim 

His  happiness  her  dear,  her  only  aim. 

'Tis  grave  Philosophy's  absurdest  dream, 

That  Heaven's  intentions  are  not  Avhat  they  seem, 

That  only  shadows  are  dispensed  below, 

And  earth  has  no  reality  but  woe.  68 

Thus  tliings  terrestrial  wear  a  different  hue, 
As  youth  or  age  persuades — and  neither  true ; 
So  Flora's  wreath  through  color'd  crystal  seen, 
The  rose  or  lily  appears  blue  or  green, 
But  still  the  imputed  tints  are  those  alone 
The  medium  represents,  and  not  their  own. 

To  rise  at  noon,  sit  slipshod  and  undress'd, 
To  read  the  news,  or  fiddle,  as  seems  best, 
Till  half  the  world  comes  rattling  at  his  door. 
To  fill  the  dull  vacuity  till  four; 

And,  just  Avhen  evening  turns  tlie  blue  vault  gray,       79 
To  spend  two  hours  in  dressing  for  the  day; 
To  make  the  Sun  a  bauble  without  use. 
Save  for  the  fruits  his  heavenly  beams  produce ; 
Quite  to  forget,  or  deem  it  worth  no  thought. 
Who  bids  him  shine,  or  if  he  shine  or  not ; 
Tlirough  mere  necessity  to  close  his  eyes 
eTust  when  the  larks  and  when  the  shepherds  rise; — 
Is  such  a  life,  so  tediously  the  same. 
So  void  of  all  utility  or  aim. 
That  poor  Jonquil,  with  almost  every  breath. 
Sighs  for  liis  exit,  vulgarly  call'd  death  :  90 

For  he,  with  all  his  follies,  has  a  mind 
Not  yet  so  blank,  or  fashionably  blind. 
But  now  and  then  perhaps  a  feeble  ray 
Of  distant  wisdom  shoots  across  his  way ; 
By  which  he  reads,  that  life  Avitliout  a  plan, 
As  useless  as  the  moment  it  began. 
Serves  merely  as  a  soil  for  discontent 
To  thrive  in;  an  encumbrance,  ere  half  spent. 
Oh !  Aveariness  beyond  what  asses  feel. 
That  tread  the  circuit  of  the  cistern-wheel; 
,  A  dull  rotation,  never  at  a  stay,  101 


I 


96  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Yesterday's  face  twin  image  of  to-day ; 
While  conversation,  an  exhausted  stock, 
Grows  drowsy  as  the  chcking  of  a  clock. 
No  need,  he  cries,  of  gravity  stuff 'd  out 
With  academic  dignity  devout, 
To  read  wise  lectures,  vanity  the  text: 
Proclaim  the  remedy,  ye  learned,  next ; 
For  truth  self-evident,  with  pomp  impressed, 
Is  vanity  surpassing  all  the  rest. 

That  remedy,  not  hid  in  deeps  profound,  111 

Yet  seldom  sought  where  only  to  be  found. 
While  passion  turns  aside  from  its  due  scope 
The  inquirer's  aim,  that  remedy  is  Hope. 
Life  is  His  gift,  from  whom  whatever  life  needs, 
With  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  proceeds ; 
Bestowed  on  man,  like  all  that  we  partake, 
Koyally,  freely,  for  his  bounty's  sake ; 
Transient,  indeed,  as  is  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  yet  the  seed  of  an  immortal  flower; 
DesignVl,  in  honor  of  his  endless  love, 
To  fill  with  fragrance  his  abode  above ;  122 

1^0  trifle,  howsoever  short  it  seem. 
And,  howsoever  shadowy,  no  dream  : 
Its  value,  what  no  thought  can  ascertain, 
Nor  all  an  angel's  eloquence  explain. 
Men  deal  with  life  as  children  witli  their  play, 
AVho  first  misuse,  then  cast  their  toys  away ! 
Live  to  no  sober  purpose,  and  contend 
That  their  Creator  had  no  serious  end. 
When  God  and  man  stand  opposite  in  view, 
Man's  disappointment  must  of  course  ensue. 
The  just  Creator  condescends  to  write,  133 

In  beams  of  inextinguishable  light. 
His  names  of  wisdom,  goodness,  power,  and  love, 
On  all  that  blooms  below  or  shines  above; 
To  catch  the  wandering  notice  of  mankind. 
And  teach  the  world,  if  not  perversely  blind. 
His  gracious  attributes,  and  prove  the  share 
His  offspring  hokl  in  his  paternal  care. 
If,  led  from  earthly  things  to  things  divine. 
His  creature  thwart  not  his  august  design, 
Then  praise  is  heard  instead  of  reasoning  pride, 
And  captious  cavil  and  complaint  subside. 


HOPE.  97 

Nature,  employed  in  her  allotted  place, 

Is  handmaid  to  the  purposes  of  Grace ; 

By  good  vouchsafed,  makes  known  superior  good, 

And  bliss  not  seen,  by  blessings  understood : 

That  bliss,  reveaFd  in  Scripture,  Avith  a  glow 

Bright  as  the  covenant-insuring  bow, 

Fires  all  his  feelings  with  a  noble  scorn 

Of  sensual  evil,  and  thus  Hope  is  born. 

Hope  sets  the  stamp  of  vanity  on  all 
That  men  have  deenrd  substantial  since  the  fall;        154 
Yet  has  the  wondrous  virtue  to  educe 
From  emptiness  itself  a  real  use; 
And  while  she  takes,  as  at  a  fatherVs  hand, 
What  health  and  sober  appetite  demand, 
From  fading  good  derives,  with  chemic  art, 
That  lasting  happiness,  a  thankful  Iieart. 
Hope,  with  u[)lifted  foot,  set  free  from  earth, 
Pants  for  the  place  of  her  ethereal  birth. 
On  steady  wings  sails  through  the  immense  abyss. 
Plucks  amaranthine  joys  from  bowers  of  bliss. 
And  crowns  the  soul,  while  yet  a  mourner  here,         165 
With  wreaths  like  those  triumphant  spirits  wear. 
Hope,  as  an  ancljor  lirm  and  sure,  holds  fast 
The  Christian  vessel,  and  defies  the  blast: 
Hope !  nothing  else  can  nourish  and  secure 
His  new-born  virtues,  and  ])reserve  him  pure : 
Hope!  let  the  wretch,  once  conscious  of  the  joy. 
Whom  noAV  despairing  agonies  destroy, 
Speak,  for  he  can,  and  none  so  well  as  he. 
What  treasures  centre,  what  delights,  in  thee. 
Had  he  the  gems,  the  spices,  and  the  land 
That  boasts  the  treasure,  all  at  his  command,  1V6 

The  fragrant  grove,  the  inestimable  mine, 
Were  light  when  weiglrd  against  one  smile  of  thine. 

Though  clasp'd  and  cradled  in  his  nurse's  arms, 
He  shine  witli  all  a  cherub's  artless  charms, 
Man  is  the  genuine  offspring  of  revolt, 
Stubborn  and  sturdy,  a  wild  ass's  colt ; 
His  ])assions,  like  the  watery  stores  that  sleep 
Beneath  the  smiling  surface  of  the  deep, 
AVait  but  the  lashes  of  a  wintry  storm, 
To  frown  and  roar,  and  shake  his  feeble  form. 
From  infancy,  through  childhood's  giddy  maze,  187 

9 


98  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Froward  at  school,  and  fretful  in  his  plays, 

The  puny  tyrant  burns  to  subjugate 

Tlie  free  republic  of  the  whip-gig  state. 

If  one,  his  equal  in  athletic  frame, 

Or,  more  provoking  still,  of  nobler  name, 

Dares  step  across  his  arbitrary  views, 

An  Iliad,  only  not  in  verse,  ensues: 

The  little  Greeks  look  trembling  at  the  scales, 

Till  the  best  tongue  or  lieaviest  hand  prevails. 

Now  see  him  launchVl  into  the  world  at  large ;        197 
If  priest,  supinely  droning  o'er  his  charge. 
Their  fleece  his  pillow,  and  his  weekly  drawl. 
Though  short,  too  long,  the  price  he  pays  for  all. 
If  lawyer,  loud  Avhatever  cause  he  plead, 
But  proudest  of  the  worst,  if  that  succeed. 
Perhaps  a  grave  physician,  gathering  fees. 
Punctually  paid  for  lengthening  out  disease ; 
ISTo  CoTTOX,  whose  humanity  sheds  rays 
That  make  superior  skill  his  second  praise. 
If  arms  engage  him,  he  devotes  to  sport 
His  date  of  life,  so  likely  to  be  short:  208 

A  soldier  may  be  any  thing,  if  brave; 
So  may  a  tradesman,  if  not  quite  a  knave. 
Such  stuff  the  world  is  made  of;  and  mankind, 
To  passion,  interest,  pleasure,  whim,  resign'' 
Insist  on,  as  if  each  were  his  own  Pope, 
Forgiveness,  and  the  privilege  of  hope. 
But  Conscience,  in  some  awful  silent  hour, 
When  captivating  lusts  have  lost  their  power, 
Perhaps  when  sickness,  or  some  fearful  dream. 
Reminds  him  of  religion,  hated  theme  I 
Starts  from  the  down  on  which  she  lately  slept,  219 

And  tells  of  laws  despised,  at  least  not  kept ; 
Shows  Avith  a  pointing  finger,  but  no  noise, 
A  pale  procession  of  past  sinful  joys. 
All  witnesses  of  blessings  foully  scorn'd, 
And  life  abused — and  not  to  be  suborn'd. 
Mark  these,  she  says  ;  these,  summonM  from  afar, 
Begin  their  march  to  meet  thee  at  the  bar; 
There  find  a  Judge  inexorably  just. 
And  perish  there,  as  all  presumption  must. 

Peace  be  to  those  (such  peace  as  earth  can  give) 
Who  live  in  pleasure,  dead  even  while  they  live ;        230 


HOPE.  99 

Born  capaLle  indeed  of  heavenly  truth, 

But  (h)wn  to  latest  age,  from  earliest  youth. 

Their  mind  a  wilderness  through  want  of  care, 

The  plough  of  wisdom  never  entering  there. 

Peace  (if  insensihility  may  claim 

A  right  to  the  meek  honors  of  her  name) 

To  men  of  pedigree,  their  noble  race, 

Emulous  always  of  the  nearest  place 

To  any  throne,  except  the  throne  of  grace. 

Let  cottagers  and  unenliglitenM  swains  240 

Revere  tlie  laws  they  dream  that  Heaven  ordains, 

Eesort  on  Sundays  to  the  house  of  prayer. 

And  ask,  and  fancy  they  find,  blessings  there; 

Themselves,  perhaps,  Avhen  weary  they  retreat 

To  enjoy  cool  nature  in  a  country-seat. 

To  exchange  the  centre  of  a  thousand  trades. 

For  clumps,  and  lawns,  and  temples,  and  cascades, 

May  now  and  then  their  velvet  cushions  take, 

And  seem  to  pray  for  good  example's  sake; 

Judging,  in  charity  no  doubt,  the  town 

Pious  enough,  and  having  need  of  none.  251 

Kind  souls!  to  teach  their  tenantry  to  prize 

AVhat  they  themselves,  without  remorse,  despise! 

Nor  hope  have  they,  nor  fear,  of  aught  to  come. 

As  well  for  them  had  prophecy  been  dumb ; 

They  could  have  held  the  conduct  they  pursue, 

Had  Paul  of  Tarsus  lived  and  died  a  Jew; 

And  truth,  proposed  to  reasoners  wise  as  they. 

Is  a  pearl  cast— completely  cast  away. 

Tliey  die. — Death  lends  them,  pleased,  and  as  in  sport. 
All  the  grim  honors  of  his  ghastly  court. 
Par  other  paintings  grace  the  chamber  now,  2C2 

Where  late  we  saw  the  mimic  landscape  glow  : 
The  busy  heralds  hang  the  sable  scene 
With  mournful  scutcheons,  and  dim  lamps  between ; 
Proclaim  their  titles  to  the  crowd  around. 
But  they  that  wore  them  move  not  at  the  sound ; 
The  coronet,  placed  idly  at  their  head, 
Adds  nothing  now  to  the  degraded  dead, 
And  even  the  star  that  glitters  on  the  bier, 
Can  only  say — ISTobility  lies  here. 
Peace  to  all  such! — 'twere  pity  to  olTend 
By  useless  censure,  whom  we  cannot  mend ;  273 


100  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Life  without  hope  can  dose  but  in  despair, 

'Twas  there  we  found  them,  and  must  leave  tliem  there. 

As,  when  two  pilgrims  in  a  forest  straj', 
Both  may  be  lost,  yet  each  in  his  own  way ; 
So  fares  it  with  the  multitudes  beguiled 
In  vain  Opinion's  waste  and  dangerous  wild; 
Ten  thousand  rove  the  brakes  and  thorns  among. 
Some  eastward,  and  some  westward,  and  all  wrong. 
But  here,  alas!  the  fatal  difference  lies. 
Each  man's  belief  is  right  in  his  own  eyes;  283 

And  he  that  blames  what  they  have  blindly  chose, 
Incurs  resentment  for  the  love  he  shows. 

Say,  botanist!  within  whose  province  fall 
The  cedar  and  the  hyssop  on  the  wall. 
Of  all  that  deck  the  lanes,  the  fields,  tlie  bowers, 
"What  parts  the  kindred  tribes  of  weeds  and  fiowers? 
Sweet  scent,  or  lovely  form,  or  both  combined, 
Distinguish  every  cultivated  kind; 
The  want  of  both  denotes  a  meaner  breed. 
And  Chloe  from  her  garland  picks  the  weed. 
Thus  hopes  of  every  sort,  whatever  sect  204 

Esteem  them,  sow  them,  rear  them,  and  protect, 
If  wild  in  nature,  and  not  duly  found, 
Gethsemane!  in  thy  dear,  hallowxl  ground. 
That  cannot  bear  the  blaze  of  Scripture  light, 
Nor  cheer  the  spirit,  nor  refresh  the  sight, 
Nor  animate  the  soul  to  Christian  deeds — 
Oh,  cast  them  from  thee! — are  weeds,  arrant  weeds. 

Ethelred's  house,  the  centre  of  six  ways. 
Diverging  each  from  each,  like  equal  rays;. 
Himself  as  bountiful  as  April  rains, 
Xord  ])aramount  of  the  surrounding  plains,  305 

Would  give  relief  of  bed  and  board  to  none. 
But  guests  that  sought  it  in  the  appointed  One; 
And  they  might  enter  at  his  open  door. 
Even  till  his  spacious  hall  would  hold  no  more. 
He  sent  a  servant  forth  by  every  road. 
To  sound  liis  horn  and  publish  it  abroad, 
That  all  miglit  mark — knight,  menial,  high  and  low — 
An  ordinance  it  concerned  them  nuich  to  know. 
If,  after  all,  some  headstrong,  hardy  lout. 
Would  disobey,  though  sure  to  be  sliut  out, 
Could  he  with  reason  murmur  at  his  case,  310 


HOPE.  '  >  '  '  '         '  ^Q2 

Himself  sole  fiutlior  of  Iiis  own  disgrace? 
No!  the  decree  was  Just  and  without  Haw, 
And  lie  that  made  had  right  to  make  the  law ; 
His  sovereign  power  and  pleasure  unrestrained, 
The  wrong  was  his  who  wrongfully  complained. 

Yet  half  mankind  maintain  a  churlish  strife 
Witli  Him,  the  donor  of  eternal  life, 
Because  the  deed,  by  which  his  love  confirms 
The  largess  he  bestows,  prescribes  the  terms, 
Compliance  with  his  will  your  lot  insures,  S26 

Accept  it  only,  and  the  boon  is  yours. 
And  sure  it  is  as  kind  to  smile  and  give, 
As  witli  a  frown  to  say.  Do  this,  and  live. 
Love  is  not  pedler's  truin})ery,  bought  and  sold; 
He  will  give. freely,  or  he  will  withhold; 
His  soul  abhors  a  mercenary  thought. 
And  him  as  deeply  who  abhors  it  not. 
He  stipulates  indeed,  but  merely  this. 
That  man  will  freely  take  an  unbought  bliss, 
AYill  trust  him  for  a  faithful,  generous  part, 
Nor  set  a  price  upon  a  willing  heart.  837 

Of  all  the  ways  that  seem  to  promise  fair, 
To  place  you  where  his  saints  his  presence  share. 
This  only  can  ;  for  this  plain  cause,  expressed 
In  terms  as  plain — Himself  has  shut  the  rest. 
But  oh,  the  strife,  the  bickering,  and  debate, 
The  tidings  of  unpurchased  heaven  create! 
The  flirted  fan,  the  bridle,  and  the  toss, 
All  speakers,  yet  all  language  at  a  loss. 
From  stuccoVl  walls  smart  arguments  rebound : 
And  beaux,  adepts  in  every  thing  profound. 
Die  of  disdain,  or  whistle  otf  the  sound.  348 

Such  is  the  clamor  of  rooks,  daws,  and  kites, 
The  explosion  of  the  levelled  tube  excites, 
AYhere  mouldering  abbey-walls  o'erhang  the  glade, 
And  oaks  coeval  spread  a  mournful  shade; 
The  screaming  nations,  hovering  in  mid  air, 
Loudly  resent  the  stranger's  freedom  there, 
And  seem  to  w^arn  him  never  to  repeat 
His  bold  intrusion  on  their  dark  retreat. 

Adieu,  Vinosa  cries,  ere  yet  he  sips 
The  purple  buniper  trembling  at  his  lips, — 
Adieu  to  all  morality !  if  Grace  350 


102  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Make  Avorks  a  vain  ingredient  in  the  case. 

The  Christian  hope  is — Waiter,  draw  the  cork — 

If  I  mistake  not — Bh)ckhead  !  with  a  fork !  — 

Without  good  works,  wliatever  some  may  boast, 

Mere  folly  and  delusion — Sir,  your  toast. — 

My  lirni  persuasion  is,  at  least  sometimes, 

That  Heaven  will  weigh  man^s  virtues  and  his  crimes, 

AVith  nice  attention,  in  a  rigliteous  scale, 

And  save  or  damn  as  these  or  those  prevail. 

I  plant  my  foot  upon  this  ground  of  trust,  869 

And  silence  every  fear  Avith — God  is  just. 

But  if  perchance,  on  some  dull  drizzling  day, 

A  thought  intrude,  that  says,  or  seems  to  say. 

If  thus  the  important  cause  is  to  be  tried, 

Suppose  the  beam  should  dip  on  the  wrong  side? 

I  soon  recover  from  these  needless  frights. 

And — God  is  merciful — sets  all  to  rights. 

Thus,  between  justice,  as  my  prime  support, 

*And  mercy  fled  to  as  the  last  resort, 

I  glide  and  steal  along  witli  heaven  in  view. 

And, — pardon  me,  the  bottle  stands  with  you.  380 

I  never  will  believe,  the  colonel  cries. 
The  sanguinary  schemes  that  some  devise. 
Who  make  the  good  Creator,  on  their  plan, 
A  being  of  less  etjuity  than  man. 
If  appetite,  or  what  divines  call  lust, 
W^hich  men  comply  with,  even  because  they  must, 
Be  punishM  with  perdition,  who  is  pure? 
Then  theirs,  no  doubt,  as  well  as  mine,  is  sure: 
If  sentence  of  eternal  pain  belong 
To  every  sudden  slip  and  transient  wrong. 
Then  Heaven  enjoins  the  falUble  and  frail  391 

A  hopeless  task,  and  damns  them  if  they  fail. 
My  creed  (whatever  some  creed-makers  mean 
By  Athanasian  nonsense  or  Nicene), 
My  creed  is,  he  is  safe  that  does  his  best. 
And  death's  a  doom  sufficient  for  the  rest. 

Right,  says  an  ensign ;  and  for  aught  I  see, 
Your  faith  and  mine  substantially  agree; 
The  best  of  every  man's  performance  liere, 
Is  to  discharge  the  duties  of  his  sphere. 
A  lawyer's  dealings  should  be  just  and  fair. 
Honesty  shines  with  great  advantage  there.  402 


HOPE.  103 

Fasting  and  prayer  sit  well  upon  a  priest, 

A  decent  caution  and  reserve  at  least. 

A  soldier's  best  is  courage  in  the  Held, 

With  nothing  here  that  wants  to  be  concealed : 

Manly  deportment,  gallant,  easy,  gay ; 

A  hand  as  liberal  as  the  light  of  day. 

The  soldier  thus  endowVl,  who  never  shrinks, 

Nor  closets  up  his  thoughts,  whatever  he  thinks, 

Who  scorns  to  do  an  injury  by  stealth. 

Must  go  to  lieaven — and  I  must  drink  his  health.       412 

Sir  Smug !  lie  cries  (for  lowest  at  the  board, 

Just  made  fifth  chaplain  of  his  patron  lord. 

His  shoulders  witnessing  by  many  a  shrug 

How  much  his  feelings  suffer\l,  sat  Sir  Smug), 

Your  office  is  to  winnow  false  from  true; 

Come,  prophet,  drink,  and  tell  us.  What  tliink  you?  ' 

Sighing  and  smiling  as  he  takes  his  glass. 
Which  they  that  woo  preferment  rarely  ])ass — 
Fallible  man,  the  church-bred  youth  replies. 
Is  still  found  fallible,  however  wise; 
And  differing  judgments  serve  but  to  declare,  423 

That  truth  lies  somewhere,  if  we  knew  but  where. 
*0f  all  it  ever  was  my  lot  to  read, 
Of  critics  now  alive  or  long  since  dead, 
The  book  of  all  the  world  that  charm VI  me  most 
Was, — well-a-day,  the  title-page  was  lost; — 
The  writer  well  remarks,  a  iieart  that  knows 
To  take  with  gratitude  what  Heaven  bestows, 
With  prudence  always  ready  at  our  call. 
To  guide  our  use  of  it,  is  all  in  all. 
Doubtless  it  is.     To  which,  of  my  own  store, 
I  superadd  a  few  essentials  more;  434 

But  these — excuse  the  liberty  I  take — 
1  waive  just  now,  for  conversation's  sake. — 
Spoke  like  an  oracle,  they  all  exclaim. 
And  add  Right  Reverend  to  Smug's  honor'd  name. 

And  yet  our  lot  is  given  us  in  a  land 
AVhcre  busy  arts  are  never  at  a  stand; 
Where  Science  points  her  telescopic  eye, 
Familiar  wilii  the  wonders  of  the  sky; 
Where  bold  inquiry,  diving  out  of  sight. 
Brings  many  a  precious  pearl  of  truth  to  light; 
Where  naught  eludes  the  persevering  quest,  •       445 


104  cowper's  poetical  works. 

That  fasliioii,  taste,  or  luxury  suggest. — 

But  above  all,  in  her  own  ligljt  array'd, 

See  Mercy's  grand  apocalypse  displayed ! 

The  sacred  Book  no  longer  suifers  wrong, 

Bound  in  the  fetters  of  an  unknown  tongue; 

But  speaks  with  plainness  art  conld  never  mend, 

AYhat  simplest  minds  can  soonest  comprehend. 

God  gives  the  Avord,  the  preachers  throng  around, 

Live  from  his  lips,  and  spread  the  glorious  sound : 

Tiiat  sound  bespeaks  salvation  on  her  way, 

Tlie  trumpet  of  a  life-restoring  day ! 

'Tis  heard  wdiere  England's  eastern  glt)ry  shines, 

And  in  the  gulfs  of  her  Cornubian  mines. 

And  still  it  spreads.     See  Germany  send  forth 

Her  sons'  to  pour  it  on  the  farthest  north : 

Fired  with  a  zeal  peculiar,  they  defy 

The  rage  and  rigor  of  a  polar  sky, 

Ami  i)lant  successfully  sweet  S]iaron\s  Rose 

On  icy  plains  and  in  eternal  snows. 

Oh  blest  witJiin  the  inclosure  of  your  rocks, 
•  Kor  herds  have  ye  to  boast,  nor  bleating  tlocks; 
No  fertilizing  streams  your  fields  divide, 
That  show,  reversed,  the  villas  on  their  side; 
No  groves  liave  ye;  no  cheerful  sound  of  bird, 
Or  voice  of  turtle  in  your  land  is  heard ; 
Nor  grateful  eglantine  regales  tlie  smell 
Of  those  that  walk  at  evening  where  ye  dwell — 
But  Winter,  arraVl  with  terrors  here  unknown. 
Sits  absolute  on  his  unshaken  throne; 
Piles  u})  his  stores  amidst  the  frozen  waste, 
And  bids  the  mountains  he  has  built  stand  fast ; 
Beckons  the  legions  of  his  storms  away 
From  happier  scenes,  to  liiake  your  land  a  prey ; 
Proclaims  the  soil  a  conquest  he  lias  won. 
And  scorns  to  share  it  witli  the  distant  Sun. 
— Yet  Truth  is  yours,  remote,  unenvied  isle! 
And  Peace,  the  genuine  offspring  of  her  smile; 
The  pride  of  lettered  Ignorance  that  binds 
In  chains  of  error  our  accomplished  minds, 
That  decks  with  all  the  sjdendor  of  the  true, 
A  false  religion,  is  unknown  to  you. 
Nature  indeed  vouclisafes  for  our  delight 

J  The  Moravian  missionaries  in  Greenland.    See  Krantz. 


HOPE.  105 

Tlie  sweet  vicissitudes  of  day  and  niglit; 
Soft  airs  and  genial  moisture  feed  and  cheer 
Field,  fruit,  and  flower,  and  every  creature  here; 
But  brighter  beams  than  Jiis  wlio  flres  the  skies, 
Have  risen  at  length  on  your  admiring  eyes, 
Tliat  shoot  into  your  darkest  caves  the  day. 
From  whicli  our  nicer  optics  turn  away. 

Here  see  the  encouragement  Grace  gives  to  vice. 
The  dire  effect  of  mercy  without  price  ! 
"What  were  they  ?  What  some  fools  are  made  by  art,     497 
They  were  by  nature — atlieists,  head  and  heart. 
Tlie  gross  idolatry  blind  heatliens  teach 
Was  too  refined  for  tiiem,  beyond  their  reach. 
Not  even  tlie  glorious  sun,  though  men  revere 
The  monarch  most  that  seldom  will  appear, 
And  thougli  his  beams,  that  quicken  where  they  shine, 
May  claim  some  right  to  be  esteemed  divine — 
Not  even  tlie  sun,  desirable  as  rare. 
Could  bend  one  knee,  engage  one  votary  there ; 
They  were,  wliat  base  Credulity  believes 
True  Christians  are,  dissemblers,  drunkards,  thieves.    5CB 
The  full-gorged  savage,  at  his  nauseous  feast. 
Spent  half  the  darkness,  and  snored  out  the  rest. 
Was  one,  whom  Justice,  on  an  equal  plan, 
Denouncing  death  upon  the  sins  of  man. 
Might  almost  have  indulged  with  an  escape. 
Chargeable  only  with  a  human  shape. 

W^iat  are  they  now  ? — Morality  may  spare 
Her  grave  concern,  her  kind  suspicions  there  : 
The  wretch  who  once  sang  wildly,  danced,  and  laugh'd. 
And  suck'd  in  dizzy  madness  with  his  draught. 
Has  wept  a  silent  flood,  reversed  his  ways,  519 

Is  sober,  meek,  benevolent,  and  prays ; 
Feeds  sparingly,  communicates  his  store. 
Abhors  the  craft  he  boasted  of  before. 
And  he  that  stole  has  learn'd  to  steal  no  more. 
Well  spake  the  prophet.  Let  the  desert  sing; 
Where  sprang  the  thorn,  the  spiry  fir  shall  spring. 
And  where  unsightly  and  rank  thistles  grew, 
Shall  grow  the  myrtle  and  luxuriant  yew. 

Go  now,  and  with  im[)ortant  tone  demand, 
On  what  foundation  virtue  is  to  stand. 
If  self-exalting  claims  be  turnVl  adrift, 


106  COWPEIl's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

And  grace  be  grace  indeed,  and  life  a  gift: 
Tlie  poor  reclaimM  inhabitant,  Ids  eyes 
Glistening  at  once  witli  i)ity  and  surprise, 
Amazed  that  shadows  sliould  obscure  the  sight 
Of  one  whose  birth  was  in  a  land  of  liglit, 
Shall  answer,  Hope,  sweet  IIo|)e,  has  set  nie  free, 
And  made  all  pleasures  else  mere  dross  to  me. 

Tliese,  amidst  scenes  as  waste  as  if  denied 
The  common  care  that  waits  on  all  beside, 
Wikl  as  if  Nature  tliere,  void  of  all  good,  540 

Play\l  only  gambols  in  a  frantic  mood 
(Yet  cliarge  not  heavenly  skill  witli  liaving  plannM 
A  plaything  world  unworthy  of  liis  liand). 
Can  see  his  love,  thouglj  secret  evil  lurks 
In  all  Ave  toucli,  stamp'd  plainly  on  his  works; 
Deem  life  a  blessing  with  its  numerous  woes, 
Nor  si)urn  away  a  gift  a  God  bestows. 
Hard  task  indeed,  o'er  arctic  seas  to  roam! 
Is  IIoi)e  exotic?  groAvs  it  not  at  home? 
Yes ;  but  an  object,  bright  as  orient  morn, 
May  press  the  eye  too  closely  to  be  borne ;  551 

A  distant  virtue  we  can  all  confess; 
It  hurts  our  pride  and  moves  our  envy  less. 

Leuconomus^  (beneath  well-sounding  Greek 
I  slur  a  name  a  poet  must  not  speak) 
Stood  pilloried  on  Infamy's  high  stnge. 
And  bore  the  pelting  scorn  of  half  an  age, 
The  very  butt  of  Slander,  and  the  blot 
For  every  dart  that  Malice  ever  shot. 
The  man  that  mentioned  him,  at  once  dismissed 
All  mercy  from  his  lips,  and  sneer  d  and  hissVl ; 
Ills  crimes  were  such  as  Sodom  never  knew,  562 

And  Perjury  stood  up  to  swear  all  true; 
His  aim  was  mischief,  and  his  zeal  pretence, 
His  speech  rebellion  against  common  sense ; 
A  knave,  when  tried  on  honesty's  plain  rule; 
And  when  by  that  of  reason,  a  mere  fool : 
The  world's  best  comfort  was,  his  doom  was  passM ; 
Die  when  he  might,  he  must  be  damuM  at  last. 

Now,  Truth,  perform  thine  office ;  Avaft  aside 
The  curtain  draAvn  by  Prejudice  and  Pride, 
Keveal  (the  man  is  dead)  to  wondering  eyes 

J  Whitefieia. 


HOPE.  107 

Tills  more  tlian  monster  in  liis  proper  guise. — 

lie  loved  the  world  tliat  hated  him;  the  tear 

That  droppM  upon  his  Bihle  was  sincere ; 

AssailM  by  scandal  and  the  tongue  of  strife, 

His  only  answer  was,  a  blameless  life; 

And  he  that  forged,  and  }ie  that  threw  the  dart, 

Had  each  a  brother's  interest  in  bis  heart. 

Paul's  love  of  Christ,  and  steadiness  unbribed, 

Were  copied  .close  in  him,  and  well  transcribed. 

lie  follow'd  Paul;  his  zeal  a  kindred  flame,  582 

His  apostolic  charity  the  same. 

Like  him,  cross'd  cheerfully  tempestuous  seas, 

Forsaking  country,  kindred,  friends,  and  ease; 

Like  him,  he  hdxn'M,  and,  like  him,  content 

To  bear  it,  sulfer'd  shame  where'er  he  went. 

Blush,  Calumny  !  and  write  upon  his  tomb, 
If  honest  eulogy  can  s})are  thee  room. 
Thy  dee})  repentance  of  thy  thousand  lies, 
"Which,  aimVl  at  him,  have  pierced  the  offended  skies; 
And  say,  Blot  out  my  sin,  confessM,  de[)lored, 
Against  thine  image  in  tliy  saint,  O  Lord !  593 

No  blinder  bigot,  I  maintain  it  still. 
Than  he  wbo  must  have  pleasure,  come  what  will: 
He  laughs,  whatever  weapon  Truth  may  draw. 
And  deems  her  sharp  artillery  mere  straw. 
Scri})ture  indeed  is  plain,  but  God  and  he, 
On  Scripture  ground,  are  sure"  to  disagree ; 
Some  wiser  rule  must  teach  him  how  to  live, 
Than  this  his  Maker  has  seen  flt  to  give; 
Supple  and  flexible  as  Indian  cane. 
To  take  the  bend  his  a])petites  ordain; 
Contrived  to  suit  frail  Nature's  crazy  case,  604 

And  reconcile  his  lusts  with  saving  grace. 
By  this,  with  nice  precision  of  design. 
He  draws  upon  life's  map  a  zig-zag  line, 
That  shows  how  far  'tis  safe  to  follow  sin. 
And  Avhere  his  danger  and  God's  wrath  begin : 
By  this  he  forms,  as  pleased  he  sports  along, 
His  well-poised  estimate  of  right  and  wrong. 
And  flnds  the  modish  manners  of  the  day, 
Though  loose,  as  harmless  as  an  infant's  play. 

Build  by  whatever  plan  caprice  decrees, 
With  what  materials,  on  what  ground  you  please, 


/;»» M  vm'mn  cffm  fs^ 


108  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Your  hope  shall  stand  unhlamed,  perhaps  admired, 

If  not  that  liope  the  Scripture  has  required: 

The  stranij^e  conceits,  vain  projects,  and  wild  dreams, 

With  which  hypocrisy  forever  teems 

(Though  other  follies  strike  the  public  eye, 

And  raise  a  laugli),  pass  unmolested  by ; 

But  if,  unblamable  in  word  and  thought, 

A  Man  arise,  a  man  whom  God  has  taught, 

IVith  all  Elijah's  dignity  of  tone,. 

And  all  the  love  of  the  beloved  John, 

To  storm  the  citadels  they  build  in  air,  626 

And  smite  the  untemi)er\l  wall ;  'tis  death  to  spare — 

To  sweep  away  all  refuges  of  lies. 

And  place,  instead  of  quirks  themselves  devise. 

Lama  Sabactiiani  before  their  eyes; 

To  ])rove  that  without  Christ  all  gain  is  loss. 

All  hope  despair,  that  stands  not  on  liis  cross : — 

Except  the  few  his  God  may  have  impress\l, 

A  tenfold  frenzy  seizes  all  the  rest. 

Throughout  mankind,  the  Christian  kind  at  least. 
There  dwells  a  consciousness  in  every  breast,  636 

That  folly  ends  Avhere  genuine  hope  begins. 
And  he  that  finds  his  heaven  must  lose  his  sins. 
Nature  opposes,  with  her  utmost  force, 
This  riving  stroke,  this  ultimate  divorce; 
And  while  Religion  seems  to  be  her  view. 
Hates  with  a  deej)  sincerity  the  true: 
For  this,  of  all  that  ever  influenced  man, 
Since  Abel  worshipp'd,  or  the  world  began. 
This  only  spares  no  lust,  admits  no  plea, 
But  makes  him,  if  at  all,  completely  free; 
Sounds  forth  the  signal,  as  she  mounts  her  car,  647 

Of  an  eternal,  universal  war ; 
Kejects  all  treaty,  penetrates  all  wiles. 
Scorns  with  the  same  indilference  frowns  and  smiles; 
Drives  through  the  realms  of  sin,  where  riot  reels, 
And  grinds  his  crown  beneath  her  burning  wheels ! 
Hence  all  that  is  in  man,  pride,  passion,  art, 
Powers  of  the  mind,  and  feelings  of  tlie  heart. 
Insensible  of  Truth's  almighty  charms. 
Starts  at  her  tirst  approach,  and  sounds  to  arms! 
While  Bigotry,  with  well-dissembled  fears, 
His  eyes  shut  fast)  his  lingers  in  his  ears,  658 


HOPE.  100 

Miglity  to  parry  and  piisli  by  God's  Word 
AVitli  senseless  noise,  his  argument  the  sword, 
Pretends  a  zeal  for  godliness  and  grace. 
And  spits  abliorrence  in  tlie  Oliristian's  face. 

Parent  of  Hope,  immortal  Trutli !  make  known 
Tliy  deathless  wreaths  and  triumplis  all  thine  own! 
The  silent  progress  of  tliy  power  is  such, 
Thy  means  so  feeble,  and  despised  so  much, 
That  few  believe  the  wonders  thou  hast  wrought, 
And  none  can  teacli  them  but  whom  thou  hast  taught. 
Oh  see  me  sworn  to  serve  thee,  and  command  669 

A  painter's  skill  into  a  poet's  hand. 
That,  while  I  trembling  trace  a  work  divine, 
Fancy  may  stand  aloof  from  the  design. 
And  light  and  shade  and  every  stroke  be  thine. 

If  ever  tliou  hast  felt  anotlier's  pain. 
If  ever  when  he  sigh'd  hast  sigh'd  again. 
If  ever  on  thine  eyelid  stood  the  tear 
That  pity  liad  engendered,  drop  one  here. 
Tliis  man  was  happy — had  the  w^orld's  good  word, 
And  with  it  every  joy  it  can  afford ;  679 ' 

Friendship  and  love  seem'd  tenderly  at  strife, 
Which  most  sliould  SAveeten  his  untroubled  life: 
Politely  learn'd,  and  of  a  gentle  race; 
Good  breeding  and  good  sense  gave  all  a  grace, 
And  whether  at  the  toilet  of  the  fair 
lie  laugh'd  and  trifled,  made  him  welcome  there; 
Or  if  in  masculine  debate  he  shared. 
Insured  him  mute  attention  and  regard. 
Alas!  how  changed!     Expressive  of  Ids  mind, 
His  eyes  are  sunk,  arms  folded,  head  reclined ; 
Those  awful  syllables,  hell,  death,  and  sin,  690' 

Though  whisper'd,  plainly  tell  what  works  within ; 
That  Conscience  there  performs  lier  proper  part. 
And  writes  a  doomsday  sentence  on  his  heart! 
Forsaking  and  forsaken  of  all  friends, 
lie  now  perceives  where  earthly  pleasure  ends; 
Hard  task  !  for  one  who  lately  knew  no  care, 
And  harder  still  as  learnt  beneath  despair! 
His  hours  no  longer  pass  unmark'd  away, 
A  dark  importance  saddens  every  day ; 
He  hears  the  notice  of  the  clock,  perplex'd, 
And  cries.  Perhaps  eternity  strikes  next!  701 

10 


110  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Sweet  music  is  no  longer  music  here, 
And  laughter  sounds  like  madness  in  his  ear; 
His  grief  the  world  of  all  her  power  disarms; 
Wine  has  no  taste,  and  beauty  has  no  charms; 
God's  holy  Word,  once  trivial  in  his  view, 
Now  by  the  voice  of  his  experience  true, 
Seems,  as  it  is,  the  fountain  wlience  alone 
Must  spring  that  hope  he  pants  to  make  his  own. 

Now  let  the  bright  reverse  be  known  abroad ; 
Say,  man's  a  worm,  and  power  belongs  to  God.  711 

As  w^hen  a  felon,  whom  liis  country's  laws 
Have' justly  doom'd  for  some  atrocious  cause. 
Expects  in  darkness  and  heart-chilling  fears 
The  shameful  close  of  all  his  misspent  years; 
If  chance,  on  heavy  ])inions  slowly  borne, 
A  tempest  usher  in  the  dreaded  morn, 
Upon  liis  dungeon  walls  the  lightnings  play, 
The  thunder  seems  to  summon  him  away, 
The  warder  at  the  door  his  key  applies. 
Shoots  back  the  bolt,  and  all  his  courage  dies: 
If  tlien,  just  then,  all  thouglits  of  mercy  lost,  722 

When  Hope,  long  lingering,  at  last  yields  the  ghost,, 
The  sound  of  pardon  pierce  his  startled  ear. 
He  drops  at  once  his  fetters  and  his  fear; 
A  transport  glows  in  all  he  looks  and  speaks. 
And  the  first  thankful  tears  bedew  his  cheeks : 
Joy,  far  superior  joy,  that  much  outweighs 
The  comfort  of  a  few  poor  added  days. 
Invades,  possesses,  and  o'erwhehns  the  soul 
Of  him  whom  Hope  has  with  a  touch  made  whole. 
'Tis  heaven,  all  heaven  descending  on  the  wings 
^Of  the  glad  legions  of  the  King  of  kings ;  73.3 

'Tis  nwre, — 'tis  God  diffused  through  every  part, 
'Tis  God  himself  triumphant  in  his  heart. 
Oh,  welcome  now  the  sun's  once  hated  light; 
His  noonday  beams  were  never  half  so  bright: 
Not  kindred  minds  alone  are  call'd  to  employ 
Their  hours,  tlieir  days,  in  listening  to  his  joy; 
Unconscious  nature,  all  that  he  surveys. 
Rocks,  groves,  and  streams,  must  join  him  in  his  praise-. 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  eternal  Truth,  J 

Tlie  scoff  of  wither'd  age  and  beardless  youth ;  % 

Thei^e  move  the  censure  and  illiberal  grin  •  744 


HOPE.  Ill 

Of  fools  that  hate  thee  and  delight  in  sin: 

But  these  shall  last  when  night  has  quencli'd  the  pole, 

And  heaven  is  all  departed  as  a  scroll : 

And  when,  as  Justice  has  long  since  decreed, 

This  earth  shall  blaze,  and  a  new  world  succeed, 

Then  these  tliy  glorious  works,  and  they  who  share 

That  Hope  which  can  alone  exclude  despair, 

Shall  live  exempt  from  weakness  and  decay, 

The  brightest  wonders  of  an  endless  day. 

Happy  the  bard  (if  that  fair  name  belong  754 

To  him  that  blends  no  foble  with  his  song) 
Whose  lines  uniting,  by  an  honest  art. 
The  faithful  monitor's  and  poet's  part, 
Seek  to  delight,  that  they  may  mend  mankind, 
And,  while  they  captivate,  inform  the  mind : 
Still  happier,  if  lie  till  a  thankful  soil. 
And  fruit  reward  his  honorable  toil : 
But  happier  far,  who  comfort  those  that  wait 
To  hear  plain  truth  at  Judah's  hallowed  gate; 
Their  language  simple,  as  their  manners  meek, 
No  shining  ornaments  have  they  to  seek;  765 

Nor  labor  they,  nor  time  nor  talents  waste, 
In  sorting  Howers  to  suit  a  fickle  taste ; 
But,  while  they  speak  the  wisdom  of  the  skies, 
Which  art  can  only  darken  and  disguise, 
The  abundant  harvest,  recompense  divine, 
liepays  their  work — the  gleaning  only  mine. 


CIIAPiITY. 


Quo  nihil  mnjus  nieliusvp  terris 
Fata  donavere,  bonique  divi; 
Nee  dabunt,  qnainvis  redeant  in  aurum 
Tempora  [)riscurn. 

IIoR.  Lib.  iv.  Od.  2. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Invocation  to  Charity  or  Christian  Love,  1— Ties  of  society,  15— Captain  Cook's 
respect  tor  social  ties,  even  among  savages,  23— Cook  and  Cortez  contrasted,  35— 
Degraded  state  of  Spain,  the  eflfect  of  divine  retribution,  65— Commerce  designed 
to  promote  national  intercourse  and  improvement,  83— F^ncourages  art,  97— A 
blessing  invoked  on  lawful  commerce,  123— Denunciation  of  the  slave-trade,  137— 
Slavery  the  most  degrading  of  ills,  155— Unchristian,  180— Unlawful  in  the  sight 
of  the  Almighty,  196— Blessed  privilege  of  mitigating  the  sorrows  of  slavery,  218 
—  Luxury  of  doing  good,  244— Apostrophe  to  Liberty,  254— Tribute  to  Howard,  290 
—Pursuits  of  philosophy,  313— Aid  of  Revelation  necessary  to  reason,  337— Divine 
truth  the  parent  of  Charity,  377— Supposed  case  of  an  optician  lecturing  to  a  blind 
nation,  379— Apitlied  to  a  world  spiritually  blind,  395— Apostle's  definition  of 
cliarity,  422— Its  heavenly  fragrance,  435— Almsgiving  as  a  means  of  lulling  the 
conscience,  447— Satire  deprecated,  485— Works  of  charity  alone  acceptable  in  the 
judgment-day.  557— Charity  exemplified  in  the  works  of  Christ,  579— Blessed  effects 
that  would  flow  from  the  universal  diffusion  of  charity,  604. 

Fairest  and  foremost  of  the  train  that  wait 

On  man's  most  dignitied  and  happiest  state, 

Whether  we  name  thee  Charity  or  Love,  3 

Chief  grace  below,  and  all  in  all  above, 

Prosper  (I  press  thee  with  a  pow^erfal  plea) 

A  task  I  venture  on,  impelPd  by  tliee: 

Oh,  never  seen  but  in  thy  blest  effects. 

Nor  felt  but  in  the  soul  that  Heaven  selects ; 

AVho  seeks  to  praise  thee,  and  to  make  thee  known 

To  other  hearts,  must  have  thee  in  his  own. 

Come,  prompt  me  with  benevolent  desires, 

Teach  me  to  kindle  at  thy  gentle  fires. 

And,  though  disgraced  and  slighted,  to  redeem 

A  poet's  name,  by  making  thee  the  theme.  *  14 


CHARITY.  113 

God,  working  ever  on  a  social  plan, 
By  various  ties  attaches  man  to  man : 
He  made  at  first,  tlioiigli  free  and  nnconfined, 
One  man  the  common  father  of  tlie  kind; 
Tliat  every  tribe,  though  placed  as  he  sees  best, 
Wliere  seas  or  deserts  part  tliem  from  the  rest, 
Differing  in  language,  manners,  or  in  fiice, 
Might  feel  themselves  allied  to  all  the  race. 
When  Cook — lamented,  and  with  tears  as  just 
As  ever  mingled  with  heroic  dust —  24 

Steer'd  Britain's  oak  into  a  Avorld  unknown. 
And  in  his  country's  glory  sought  his  own ; 
AVherever  he  found  man  to  nature  true, 
The  rights  of  man  were  sacred  in  his  view; 
lie  soothed  with  gifts,  and  greeted  with  a  smile, 
The  simple  native  of  the  new-found  isle; 
lie  spurn'd  the  wretch  that  slighted  or  withstood 
The  tender  argument  of  kindred  blood  ; 
Nor  would  endure  that  any  should  control 
His  freeborn  brethren  of  the  southern  pole. 

But,  though  some  nobler  minds  a  law  respect,  35 

That  none  shall  with  impunity  neglect, 
In  baser  souls  unnumber'd  evils  meet, 
To  thwart  its  influence  and  its  end  defeat. 
While  Cook  is  loved  for  savage  lives  he  saved, 
See  Cortez  odious  for  a  "world  enslaved ! 
Where  wast  thou  then,  sweet  Charity,  where  then, 
Thou  tutelary  friend  of  helpless  men? 
Wast  thou  in  monkish  cells  and  nunneries  found. 
Or  building  liospitals  on  English  ground? 
No! — Mammon  makes  the  world  his  legatee 
Through  fear,  not  love ;  and  Heaven  abhors  the  fee  :    46. 
Wherever  found  (and  all  men  need  thy  care), 
Nor  age  nor  infancy  could  find  thee  there. 
The  hand  that  slew  till  it  could  slay  no  more 
Was  glued  to  the  sword-hilt  with  Indian  gore. 
Their  prince,  as  justly  seated  on  liis  throne 
As  vain  imperial  Philip  on  his  own, 
Trick'd  out  of,  all  liis  royalty  by  art. 
That  stripped  him  bare,  and  broke  his  honest  heart, 
Died  by  the  sentence  of  a  shaven  priest. 
For  scorning  what  they  taught  him  to  detest. 
How  dark  the  veil  that  intercepts  the  blazo  57" 


114  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  Heaven's  mysterious  purposes  and  ways! 
God  stood  not,  though  he  seem'd  to  stand,  aloof; 
And  at  this  hour  the  conqueror  feels  the  proof: 
The  wreath  lie  won  drew  down  an  instant  curse, 
The  fretting  plague  is  in  the  public  purse, 
The  canker'd  spoil  corrodes  the  pining  state. 
Starved  by  that  indolence  their  mines  create. 

Oh,  could  their  ancient  Incas  rise  again, 
How  would  they  take  up  Israel's  taunting  strain ! 
Art  thou  too  fallen,  Iberia?     Do  we  see  G7 

The  robber  and  the  murderer  weak  as  we  ? 
Thou  that  hast  wasted  earth,  and  dared  despise 
Alike  the  wrath  and  mercy  of  the  skies. 
Thy  pomp  is  in  the  grave,  thy  glory  laid 
Low  in  the  pits  thine  avarice  has  made. 
We  come  with  joy  from  our  eternal  rest, 
To  see  the  oppressor  in  his  turn  oppress'd. 
Art  thou  the  god,  the  thunder  of  whose  hand 
RolPd  over  all  our  desolated  land : 
Shook  principalities  and  kingdoms  down. 
And  made  the  mountains  tremble  at  his  frown?  78 

The  sword  shall  light  upon  thy  boasted  powers, 
And  waste  them,  as  thy  sword  has  wasted  ours. 
'Tis  thus  Omnipotence  his  law  fulfils, 
And  Vengeance  executes  what  Justice  wills. 

Again — the  band  of  commerce  was  designed 
To  associate  all  the  branches  of  mankind ; 
And  if  a  boundless  plenty  be  the  robe, 
Trade  is  the  golden  girdle,  of  the  globe. 
Wise  to  promote  whatever  end  he  means, 
God  opens  fruitful  Nature's  various  scenes ; 
Each  climate  needs  what  other  climes  produce,  89 

And  offers  something  to  the  general  use ; 
No  land  but  listens  to  the  common  call, 
And  in  return  receives  supply  from  all. 
This  genial  intercourse,  and  mutual  aid, 
Cheers  what  were  else  a  universal  shade ; 
Calls  Nature  from  her  ivy-mantled  den. 
And  softens  human  rock- work  into  men. 
Ingenious  Art,  with  her  expressive  face. 
Steps  forth  to  fashion  and  refine  the  race, — 
Not  only  fills  Necessity's  demand. 
But  overcharges  her  capacious  hand :  100 


CHARITY.  115 

Capricious  Taste  itself  can  crave  no  more 

Than  she  snpphes  from  lief  ahounding  store: 

She  strikes  out  all  that  Luxury  can  ask, 

And  gains  new  vigor  at  her  endless  task. 

Hers  is  the  spacious  arch,  the  shapely  spire, 

The  painter's  pencil,  and  the  poet's  lyre ; 

From  her  the  canvas  borrows  light  and  shade, 

And  verse  more  lasting,  hues  that  never  fade. 

She  guides  the  finger  o'er  the  dancing  keys, 

Gives  difficulty  all  the  grace  of  ease,  110 

And  pours  a  torrent  of  sweet  notes  around. 

Fast  as  the  thirsting  ear  can  drink  the  sound. 

These  are  the  gifts  of  Art;  and  Art  thrives  most, 
"Where  Commerce  has  enricird  the  busy  coast: 
He  catches  all  improvements  in  his  flight. 
Spreads  foreign  wonders  in  his  country's  sight, 
Imports  what  others  have  invented  well. 
And  stirs  his  own  to  match  them,  or  excel 
'Tis  thus,  reciprocating,  each  with  each. 
Alternately  the  nations  learn  and  teach  ; 
"While  Providence  enjoins  to  every  soul  121 

A  union  with  the  vast  terraqueous  whole. 

Heaven  speed  the  canvas,  gallantly  unfurPd, 
To  furnish  and  accommodate  a  world. 
To  give  the  pole  the  produce  of  the  sun, 
And  knit  the  unsocial  chmates  into  one! 
Soft  airs  and  gentle  heavings  of  the  wave 
Impel  the  fleet  whose  errand  is  to  save. 
To  succor  wasted  regions,  and  replace 
The  smile  of  Opulence  in  Sorrow's  tace! 
Let  nothing  adverse,  nothing  unforeseen. 
Impede  the  bark  that  ploughs  the  deep  serene,  132 

Charged  with  a  freight  transcending  in  its  worth 
The  gems  of  India,  Nature's  rarest  birth. 
That  flies,  like  Gabriel  on  his  Lord's  commands, 
A  herald  of  God's  love,  to  pagan  lands ! 
But  ah !  what  wish  can  prosper,  or  what  prayer, 
For  merchants  rich  in  cargoes  of  despair, 
AVho  drive  a  loathsome  traffic,  gauge  and  span. 
And  buy  the  muscles  and  the  bones  of  man  ? 
The  tender  ties  of  father,  husband,  friend. 
All  bonds  of  nature  in  that  moment  end  ; 
And  each  endures,  while  yet  he  draws  his  breath,      143 


116  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  stroke  as  fatal  as  the  scythe  of  Death. 

The  sable  warrior,  frantic  Avith  regret 

Of  her  lie  leaves,  and  never  can  forget, 

Loses  in  tears  the  far-receding  shore, 

But  not  tlie  thought  that  they  must  meet  no  more; 

Deprived  of  lier  and  freedom  at  a  blow, 

What  has  he  left  that  he  can  yet  forego? 

Yes,  to  deep  sadness  sullenly  resign'd, 

lie  feels  his  body's  bondage  in  his  mind  ; 

Puts  ofi*  his  generous  nature ;  and  to  suit  153 

Ills  manners  witli  his  fate,  puts  on  the  brute. 

O  most  degrading  of  all  ills  that  wait 
On  man,  a  mourner  in  his  best  estate! 
All  other  sorrows  Virtue  may  endure, 
And  find  submission  more  tlian  half  a  cure ; 
Gi'ief  is  itself  a  medicine,  and  bestow'd 
To  improve  the  fortitude  tliat  bears  the  load ; 
To  teacli  the  w^anderer,  as  his  woes  increase, 
The  patli  of  Wisdom,  all  whose  paths  are  peace; 
But  slavery  ! — Virtue  dreads  it  as  her  grave : 
Patience  itself  is  meanness  in  a  slave  :  164 

Or  if  the  will  and  sovereignty  of  God 
Bid  suffer  it  awhile,  and  kiss  the  rod, 
W^ait  for  the  dawning  of  a  brighter  day, 
And  snap  the  chain  the  moment  when  you  may. 
Nature  imprints  upon  whatever  we  see. 
That  lias  a  heart  and  life  in  it.  Be  free! 
The  beasts  are  charterM — neitlier  age  nor  force 
Can  quell  the  love  of  freedom  in  a  horse: 
He  breaks  the  cord  that  held  him  at  the  ^-ack, 
And,  conscious  of  an  iinencumber'd  back, 
Snuffs  up  the  morning  air,  forgets  the  rein,  175 

Loose  fly  his  forelock  and  his  ample  mane; 
Responsive  to  the  distant  neigh  he  neighs, 
Nor  stops,  till,  overleaping  all  delays, 
lie  finds  the  pasture  where  his  fellows  graze. 

Canst  thou,  and  honor'd  with  a  Christian  name, 
Buy  what  is  woman-born,  and  feel  no  shame? 
Trade  in  the  blood  of  innocence,  and  plead 
Expedience  as  a  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 
So  may  the  wolf,  whom  famine  has  made  bold 
To  quit  the  forest  and  invade  the  fold; 
So  may  the  ruffian,  who,  with  ghostly  glide,  18G 


CIIARITV.  117 

Dagger  in  hand,  steals  close  to  your  Ledsiae: 
Not  he,  hut  liis  emergence  forced  the  door, 
He  found  it  inconvenient  to  he  poor. 
Has  God  tlien  given  its  sweetness  to  the  cane, 
Unless  his  laws  he  trampled  on — in  vain? 
Built  a  hrave  world,  whicli  cannot  yet  suhsist, 
Unless  his  right  to  rule  it  he  dismissVl  ? 
Impudent  hlaspliemy  !     So  Folly  pleads, 
And  Avarice  heing  judge,  with  ease  succeeds. 

J)Ut  grant  the  plea,  and  let  it  stand  for  just,  19G 

That  man  make  man  his  prey,  because  he  must; 
Still  there  is  room  for  i)ity  to  abate 
And  soothe  the  sorrows  of  so  sad  a  state. 
A  Briton  knows,  or  if  he  knows  it  not. 
The  Scripture  placed  within  his  reach,  he  ought, 
That  souls  have  no  discriminating  hue, 
Alike  important  in  their  Maker's  view ; 
That  none  are  free  from  blemish  since  the  fall, 
And  Love  divine  has  paid  one  price  for  all. 
The  wretch  that  works  and  weeps  without  relief 
Has  One  that  notices  his  silent  grief.  207 

He  from  whose  hands  alone  all  power  proceeds, 
Ranks  its  abuse  among  the  foulest  deeds ; 
Considers  all  injustice  with  a  frown  ; 
But  marks  the  man  that  treads  his  fellow  down. 
Begone! — the  whip  and  bell  in  that  hard  hand 
Are  hateful  ensigns  of  usurpVl  command  : 
Not  Mexico  could  i)urchase  kings  a  claim 
To  scourge  him,  weariness  his  only  blame. 
Remember,  Heaven  has  an  avenging  rod ; 
To  smite  the  poor  is  treason  against  God. 

Trouble  is  grudgingly  and  hardly  brook'd,  218 

While  life's  sublimest  joys  are  overlooked: 
We  wander  o'er  a  sunburnt  thirsty  soil, 
Murmuring  and  weary  of  our  daily  toil. 
Forget  to  enjoy  the  palm-tree's  olierVl  shade. 
Or  taste  the  fountain  in  the  neighboring  glade; 
Else  who  would  lose,  that  had  the  i)ower  to  improve 
The  occasion  of  transmuting  fear  to  love  ? 
Oh,  'tis  a  godlike  privilege  to  save! 
And  he  that  scorns  it  is  Jiimself  a  slave. — 
Inform  his  mind;  one  tlash  of  heavenly  day 
Would  heal  his  heart,  and  melt  his  chains  away.         220 


118  COWPEr's    I'OETICAL   WORKS. 

^'  Beauty  for  ashes"  is  a  gift  indeed, 

And  slaves,  by  trntli  enlarged,  are  doubly  freed. 

Then  would  lie  say,  submissive  at  thy  feet, 

While  gratitude  and  love  made  service  sweet, — 

My  dear  deliverer  out  of  hopeless  niglit;   " 

Whose  bounty  bought  me  but  to  give  me  light, 

I  was  a  bondman  on  my  native  plain, 

Sin  forged,  and  Ignorance  made  fast,  the  chain ; 

Thy  li[)S  lijive  shed  instruction  as  the  dew. 

Taught  me  what  path  to  shun,  and  what  pursue;        239 

Farewell  my  former  joys!  I  sigh  no  more 

For  Africa's  once  loved,  beniglited  shore, — 

Serving  a  benefactor,  I  am  free ; 

At  my  best  home,  if  not  exiled  from  thee. 

Some  men  make  gain  a  fountain,  whence  proceeds 
A  stream  of  liberal  and  heroic  deeds; 
The  SAvell  of  pity,  not  to  be  confined 
Within  the  scanty  limits  of  the  mind. 
Disdains  the  bank,'  and  throws  the  golden  sands, 
A.  rich  deposit,  on  tbe  bordering  lands: 
These  have  an  ear  for  His  i)aternal  call,  250 

Who  makes  some  rich  for  the  sup])ly  of  all; 
God's  gift  with  pleasure  in  his  praise  employ; 
And  TiroiiXTOx  is  familiar  with  the  joy. 

Oh,  C()uld  I  worship  aught  beneath  the  skies 
That  earth  hath  seen,  or  fancy  can  devise. 
Thine  altar,  sacred  Liberty,  should  stand, 
J^uiit  by  no  mercenary  vulgar  hand, 
With  fi-agrant  turf,  and  flowers  as  wild  and  fair 
As  ever  dress\l  a  bank  or  scented  summer  air! 
Duly,  as  ever  on  the  mountain's  height 
The  peep  of  Morning  shed  a  dawning  light;  261 

Again,  when  Evening.,  in  her  sober  vest, 
Drew  the  gray  curtain  of  the  fading  west; 
My  soul  should  yield  thee  willing  thanks  and  praise, 
For  the  chief  blessings  of  my  fjiirest  days: 
But  that  were  sacrilege — praise  is  not  thine. 
But  His  who  gave  thee,  and  preserves  thee  mine: 
Else  I  would  say,  and  as  1  spake  bid  fly 
A  captive  bird  into  the  boundless  sky, — 
This  tri[)le  realm  adores  thee — thou  art  come 
From  Si>arta  iiither,  and  art  here  at  home. 
We  feei  thy  force  still  active— at  this  hour  273] 


1 


CHARITV.  119 

Enjoy  immunity  from  priestly  power, 

Willie  Conscience,  happier  tlian  in  ancient  3'ears, 

Owns  no  superior  but  the  God  she  fears. 

Propitious  spirit !  yet  expunge  a  wrong 

Thy  rights  have  sutferVl,  and  our  land,  too  long, 

Teach  mercy  to  ten  tliousand  hearts  that  share 

The  fears  and  hopes  of  a  commercial  care. 

Prisons  expect  the  wicked,  and  were  built 

To  bind  the  lawless  and  to  punish  guilt ; 

But  shipwreck,  earthquake,  battle,  tire,  and  flood,       282 

Are  mighty  mischiefs,  not  to  be  withstood ; 

And  honest  Merit  stands  on  slippery  ground, 

"Where  covert  guile  and  artifice  abound ; 

Let  just  Restraint,  for  public  peace  designed. 

Chain  up  the  wolves  and  tigers  of  mankind; 

The  foe  of  Virtue  has  no  claim  to  thee, 

But  let  insolvent  Innocence  go  free. 

Patron  of  else  the  most  despised  of  men, 
Accept  the  tribute  of  a  stranger's  pen ; 
Verse,  like  the  laurel,  its  immortal  meed, 
Should  be  the  guerdon  of  a  noble  deed ;  293 

I  may  alarm  thee,  but  I  fear  the  shame 
(Charity  chosen  as  my  theme  and  aim) 
I  must  incur,  forgetting  Howakd's  name. 
Blest  with  all  wealth  can  give  thee,  to  resign 
Joys  d(nibly  sweet  to  feelings  quick  as  thine ; 
To  quit  the  bliss  thy  rural  scenes  bestow, 
To  seek  a  nobler  amidst  scenes  of  woe ; 
To  traverse  seas,  range  kingdoms,  and  bring  home, 
Not  the  proud  monuments  of  Greece  or  Rome, 
But  knowledge  such  as  only  dungeons  teach. 
And  only  sympathy  like  thine  could  reach ;  304 

Tliat  grief,  se(]uester\l  from  the  public  stage, 
Might  smooth  her  feathers,  and  enjoy  her  cage; 
Speaks  a  divine  ambition,  and  a  zeal, 
The  boldest  patriot  might  be  proud  to  feel. 
Oh  that  tlie  voice  of  chunor  and  debate. 
That  pleads  for  peace  till  it  disturbs  the  State,' 
Were  hush'd  in  favor  of  thy  generous  ])lea, 
The  poor  thy  clients,  and  Heaven's  smile  thy  fee! 

Philosophy,  that  does  not  dream  or  stray^ 
Walks  arm  in  arm  with  Nature  all  his  way; 
Compasses  earth,  dives  into  it,  ascends  315 


120  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Whatever  steep  Inquiry  recommends, 

Sees  planetary  wonders  smoothly  roll 

Round  other  systems  under  her  control, 

Drinks  wisdom  at  the  milky  stream  of  light 

That  cheers  the  silent  journey  of  the  night, 

And  brings,  at  his  return,  a  bosom  charged 

With  rich  instruction,  and  a  soul  enlarged. 

The  treasured  sweets  of  the  capacious  plan 

That  Heaven  spreads  wide  before  the  view  of  man, 

All  prompt  his  pleased  pursuit,  and  to  pursue  325 

Still  prompt  him,  with  a  pleasure  always  new ; 

He  too  has  a  connecting  power,  and  draws 

Man  to  the  centre  of  the  common  cause, 

Aiding  a  dubious  and  deficient  sight 

"With  a^ew  medium  and  a  purer  light. 

All  truth  is  precious,  if  not  all  divine, 

And  what  dilates  the  powers  must  needs  refine. 

He  reads  the  skies,  and,  watching  every  change, 

Provides  the  faculties  an  ampler  range. 

And  wins  mankind,  as  his  attempts  prevail, 

A  prouder  station  on  the  general  scale.  836 

But  Reason  still,  unless  divinely  taught. 

Whatever  she  learns,  learns  nothing  as  she  ought ; 

The  lamp  of  Revelation  only  shows 

"What  human,  wisdom  cannot  but  oppose — 

That  man,  in  Nature's  richest  mantle  clad, 

And  graced  with  all  Philosophy  can  add. 

Though  fair  without,  and  luminous  within, 

Is  still  the  progeny  and  heir  of  sin.    . 

Thus  taught,  down  falls  the  plumage  of  his  pride* 

He  feels  his  need  of  an  unerring  guide. 

And  knows  that  falling  he  shall  rise  no  more,  347 

Unless  the  power  that  bade  him  stand,  restore. 

This  is  indeed  philosophy ;  this  known, 

Makes  wisdom,  worthy  of  the  name,  his  own: 

And  without  this,  whatever  he  discuss ; 

Whether  the  space  between  the  stars  and  us ; 

AVhether  he  measure  earth,  compute  the  sea, 

Weigh  sunbeams,  carve  a  fly,  or  spit  a  flea ; 

The  solemn  trifler  with  his  boasted  skill 

Toils  nmch,  and  is  a  solemn  trifler  still: 

Blind  was  he  born,  and  his  misguided  eyes 

Grown  dim  in  trifling  studies,  blind  he  dies.  358 


CHARITY.  121 

Self-knowledge  truly  learn'd,  of  conrse  implies 

The  rich  possession  of  a  nolj4er  prize ; 

For  self  to  self,  and  God  to  man,  reveal'd 

(Two  themes  to  Nature's  eye  forever  seal'd), 

Are  taught  by  rays  that  fly  with  equal  pace 

From  the  same  ceiitre  of  enlightening  grace. 

Here  stay  thy  foot ;  how  copious,  and  liow  clear, 

The  o'ertioAving  well  of  Charity  springs  here! 

Hark !  'tis  the  music  of  a  thousand  rills, 

Some  thro'  the  groves,  some  down  the  sloping  hills,      868 

"Winding  a  secret  or  an  open  course. 

And  all  supplied  from  an  eternal  source. 

The  ties  of  Nature  do  but  feebly  bind. 

And  Commerce  partially  reclaims  mankind ; 

Philosophy,  w^ithout  his  heavenly  guide. 

May  blow  up  self-conceit,  and  nourish  pride ; 

But  wdiile  his  province  is  the  reasoning  part, 

Has  still  a  veil  of  midnight  on  his  heart : 

'Tis  Truth  divine,  exhibited  on  earth. 

Gives  Charity  her  being  and  her  birth. 

Suppose  (when  thought  is  warm,  and  fancy  flows,     379 
"What  will  not  argument  sometimes  suppose  ?) 
An  isle  possess'd  by  creatures  of  our  kind, 
Endued  with  reason,  yet  by  nature  blind. 
Let  Supposition  lend  her  aid  once  more. 
And  land  some  grave  optician  on  the  shore : 
He  claps  his  lens,  if  haply  they  may  see. 
Close  to  the  part  where  vision  ought  to  be; 
But  finds  that,  though  his  tubes  assist  the  sight, 
They  cannot  give  it,  or  make  darkness  light. 
He  reads  Avise  lectures,  and  describes  aloud 
A  sense  they  know  not,  to  the  wondering  crowd;       390 
He  talks  of  light,  and  the  prismatic  hues, 
As  men  of  depth  in  erudition  use; 
But  all  he  gains  for  liis  harangue  is — "Well — 
"What  monstrous  lies  some  travellers  will  tell ! 

The  soul  wliose  sight  all-(}uickening  grace  renews, 
Takes  the  resemblance  of  the  good  she  views, 
As  diamonds  strijip'd  of  their  opake  disguise, 
Reflect  the  noonday  glory  of  the  skies. 
Slie  speaks  of  Him,  her  author,  guardian,  friend, 
"Whose  love  knew  no  beginning,  knows  no  end, 
lu  language  Avarm  a^  all  that  love  inspires ;  4:01 

11 


122  coavper's  poetical  works. 

And,  in  the  glow  of  lier  intense  desires, 
Pants  to  communicate  hef  noble  tires. 
Slie  sees  a  world  stark  blind  to  what  employs 
Her  eager  thought,  and  feeds  her  Howing  joys; 
Though  Wisdom  hail  them,  heedless  of  her  call, 
Flies  to  save  some,  and  feels  a  pang  for  all : 
Herself  as  weak  as  her  support  is  strong. 
She  feels  that  frailty  she  denied  so  long ; 
And,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  own  disease, 
Learns  to  compassionate  the  sick  she  sees. 
Here  see,  acquitt-ed  of  all  vain  pretence. 
The  reign  of  genuine  Charity  commence  : 
Though  scorn  repay  her  sympathetic  tears. 
She  still  is  kind,  and  still  she  perseveres  ; 
The  truth  she  loves,  a  sightless  world  blaspheme, 
'Tis  childish  dotage,  a  delirious  dream ! 
The  danger  tliey  discern  not,  they  deny ; 
Laugh  at  their  only  remedy,  and  die. 
But  still  a  soul  thus  toucli'd  can  never  cease, 
Whoever  threatens  war,  to  speak  of  peace. 
Pure  in  her  aim,  and  in  her  temper  mild. 
Her  wisdom  seems  the  meekness  of  a  child; 
She  makes  excuses  wliere  she  might  condemn — 
Reviled  by  tliose  that  hate  her,  prays  for  them: 
Suspicion  lurks  not  in  her  artless  breast, 
The  worst  suggested,  she  believes  the  best ; 
Not  soon  provoked,  however  stung  and  teased. 
And  if  perhaps  made  angry,  soon  appeased; 
She  rather  Avaives  than  will  dispute  her  right ; 
And,  injured,  makes  forgiveness  her  delight. 

Such  was  tlie  portrait  an  apostle  drew, 
The  bright  original  was  one  he  knew  ; 
Heaven  held  his  hand,  the  likeness  must  be  true. 

When  one  that  holds  communion  with  the  skies, 
,     Has  fiird  his  urn  Avhere  tliese  pm^e  waters  rise, 
And  once  more  mingles  with  us  meaner  things, 
'Tis  even  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wrings ; 
Immortal  fragrance  hlls  the  circuit  wide, 
That  tells  us  whence  liis  treasures  are  supplied. 
So  when  a  ship  well  freighted  with  the  stores 
The  sun  matures  on  Lidia's  spicy  shores. 
Has  dropp'd  her  anchor,  and  lier  canvas  fmTd, 
In  some  safe  haven  of  our  western  world ; 


CHARITY.  123 

'Twere  vain4nqniry  to  wliat  port  she  went, 
Tlie  gale  informs  us,  laden  witli  tlie  scent. 

Some  seek,  when  queasy  conscience  has  its  qualms, 
To  lull  the  painful  malady  witli  alms ; 
But  charity  not  fcign'd,  intends  alone 
Another's  good — theirs  centres  in  their  own; 
And,  too  short-lived  to  reach  the  realms  of  peace. 
Must  cease  forever  when  the  poor  shall  cease. 
Flavia,  most  tender  of  her  own  good  name. 
Is  rather  careless  of  a  sister's  fame :  454 

Her  superfluity  the  poor  supi)lies, 
But  if  she  touch  a  character,  it  dies. 
The  seeming  virtue  w^eigh'd  against  tlie  vice. 
She  deems  all  safe,  for  she  lias  paid  the  price : 
No  charity  but  alms  auglit  values  slie. 
Except  in  porcelain  on  lier  mantel-tree. 
Plow  many  deeds  with  wliich  the  world  has  rung. 
From  Pride,  in  league  Avith  Ignorance,  have  sprung ! 
But  God  o'errules  all  human  follies  still, 
And  bends  the  tough  materials  to  his  will. 
A  conflagration,  or  a  wintry  flood,  465 

Has  left  some  liundreds  without  home  or  food : 
Extravagance  and  Avarice  shall  subscribe, 
While  fame  and  self-complacence  are  the  bribe. 
The  brief  i)roclaim'd,  it  visits  every  pew. 
But  first  the  squire's,  a  complinient  but  due, 
With  slow  deliberation  he  unties 
His  glittering  purse,  that  envy  of  all  eyes ; 
x\nd,  while  the  clerk  just  i)uzzles  out  the  psalm, 
Slides  guinea  behind  guinea  in  his  palm ; 
Till  finding,  what  he  might  have  found  before, 
A  smaller  piece  amidst  the  ])recious  store,  470 

Pinch'd  close  between  his  finger  and  liis  thumb. 
He  half  exhibits,  and  then  drops  the  sum. 
Gold,  to  be  sure! — throughout  the  town  'tis  told 
How  the  good  squire  gives  never  less  than  gold. 
From  motives  such  as  his,  though  not  the  best. 
Springs  in  due  time  supply  for  the  distress'd. 
Not  less  eflfectual  than  what  love  bestows. 
Except  that  office  clips  it  as  it  goes. 

l^ut  lest  I  seem  to  sin  against  a  friend. 
And  wound  the  grace  1  mean  to  recommend 
(Though  vice  derided  with  a  just  design  487 


124     .  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Implies  no  trespass  against  love  divine), 
Once  more  I  would  adopt  the  graver  style*, 
A  teacher  should  be  sparing  of  his  smile. 
Unless  a  love  of  virtue  light  the  flame, 
Satire  is,  more  than  those  he  brands,  to  blame ; 
He  hides  behiad  a  magisterial  air 
His  own  offences,  and  strips  others'  bare; 
Affects,  indeed,  a  most  humane  concern. 
That  men,  if  gently  tutorM,  will  not  learn ; 
That  mulish  Folly,  not  to  be  reclaimed  497 

By  softer  methods,  must  be  made  ashamed, — 
But  (I  might  instance  in  St.  Patrick's  dean) 
Too  often  rails  to  gratify  his  spleen. 
Most  satirists  are  indeed  a  public  scourge ; 
Their  mildest  physic  is  a  farrier's  purge ; 
Their  acrid  temper  turns,  as  soon  as  stirr'd, 
The  milk  of  their  good  purpose  all  to  curd. 
Their  zeal  begotten,  as  tlieir  Avorks  rehearse, 
By  lean  despair  upon  an  empty  purse, 
The  wild  assassins  start  into  the  street. 
Prepared  to  poniard  whomsoe'er  they  meet.  508 

No  skill  in  swordsmanship,  however  just. 
Can  be  secure  against  a  madman's  thrust; 
And  even  Virtue,  so  unfairly  match'd, 
Although  immortal,  may  be  prick'd  or  scratch'd. 
When  Scandal  has  new  minted  an  old  lie, 
Or  tax'd  invention  for  a  fresh  supply, 
'Tis  call'd  a  satire,  and  the  world  appears 
Gathering  around  it  with  erected  ears; 
A  thousand  names  are  toss'd  into  the  crowd ; 
Some  whisper'd  softly,  and  some  twang'd  aloud ; 
Just  as  the  srfi)ience  of  an  author's  brain  519 

Suggests  it  safe  or  dangerous  to  be  plain. 
Strange !  how  the  frequent  interjected  dash 
Quickens  a  market,  and  helps  off  the  trash; 
The  important  letters  that  include  the  rest. 
Serve  as  a  key  to  those  that  are  suppress'^ ; 
Conjecture  gripes  the  victims  in  his  paw. 
The  Avorld  is  charm'd,  and  Scrib  escapes  the  law. 
So,  Avhen  the  cold  damp  shades  of  night  prevail, 
"Worms  may  be  caught  by  either  head  or  tail; 
Forcibly  drawn  from  many  a  close  recess. 
They  meet  Avith  little  pity,  no  redress ;  530 


CHARITY.  125 

Plunged  in  the  stream,  they  lodge  upon  the  mud, 
Food  for  the  faniish'd  rovers  of  the  flood. 

All  zeal  for  a  reform,  that  gives  offence 
To  peace  and  cliarity,  is  mere  pretence : 
A  hold  remark, — hut  which,  if  well  applied, 
Would  humble  many  a  towering  poet's  pride. 
Perhaps  the  man  w^as  in  a  sportive  fit, 
And  had  no  other  i)lay-place  for  his  Avit ; 
Perhaps,  enchanted  with  the  love  of  fame. 
He  sought  the  jewel  in  his  neighbor's  shame;  640 

Perhaps — whatever  end  he  might  pursue. 
The  cause  of  virtue  could  not  be  his  view. 
At  every  stroke  wit  flashes  in  our  eyes, 
The  turns  are  quick,  the  polish'd  points  surprise ; 
But  shine  with  cruel  and  tremendous  charms, 
That,  while  they  i)lease,  possess  us  with  alarms : 
So  have  I  seen  (and  hastened  to  the  sight 
On  all  the  wings  of  holiday  delight), 
AVhere  stands  that  monument  of  ancient  power, 
Named  with  emphatic  dignity,  the  Tower, 
Guns,  halberts,  swords,  and  pistols,  great  and  small,  551 
In  starry  forms  disposed  upon  the  wall : 
We  wonder,  as  we  gazing  stand  below, 
That  brass  and  steel  should  make  so  fine  a  show ; 
But,  though  we  praise  the  exact  designer's  skill, 
Account  them  implements  of  mischief  still. 

No  works  shall  find  acceptance  in  that  day 
Wl^^en  all  disguises  shall  be  rent  aAvay, 
That  square  not  truly  with  the  Scripture  plan. 
Nor  spring  from  love  to  God,  or  love  to  man. 
As  lie  ordains  things  ^sordid  in  their  birth 
To  be  resolved  into  their  parent  earth  ;  563 

And,  though  tlie  soul  shall  seek  superior  orbs, 
Wliate'er  this  world  produces,  it  absorbs ; 
So  self  starts  nothing  but  what  tends  apace 
Home  to  the  goal  where  it  began  the  race. 
Such  as  our  motiv^e  is,  our  aim  must  be; 
If  this  be  servile,  that  can  ne'er  be  free; 
If  self  employ  us,  whatsoe'er  is  wrought, 
We  glorify  that  self,  not  Him  we  ought: 
Such  virtues  had  need  prove  their  own  reward, 
The  Judge  of  all  men  owes  them  no  regard. 
^  True  Charity,  a  plant  divinely  nursed,  573 


126  cowpbr's  poetical  works. 

Fed  by  the  love  from  which  it  rose  at  first, 

Thrives  against  hope,  and  in  the  rudest  scene, 

Storms  but  enUven  its  unfading  green; 

Exuberant  is  the  shadow  it  suppHes, 

Its  fruit  on  ear.th,  its  growth  above  the  skies. 

To  look  at  llim  wlio  form'd  us  and  redeemed, 

So  glorious  now,  though  once  so  disesteem'd ; 

To  see  a  God  stretch  forth  his  human  hand. 

To  uphold  the  boundless  scenes  of  his  command; 

To  recollect  that,  in  a  form  like  ours,  583 

He  bruised  beneath  his  feet  the  infernal  powers. 

Captivity  led  captive,  rose  to  claim 

The  wreath  he  won  so  dearly  in  our  name ; 

That,  throned  above  all  height,  he  condescends 

To  call  the  few  that  trust  in  him  his  friends ; 

That  in  the  heaven  of  heavens,  that  space  he  deems 

Too  scanty  for  the  exertion  of  his  beams, 

And  shines,  as  if  impatient  to  bestow 

Life  and  a  kingdom  upon  worms  below; 

That  sight  imi)arts  a  never-dying  flame, 

Though  feeble  in  degree,  in  kind  the  same.  594 

Like  Him,  the  soul,  thus  kindled  from  above, 

Spreads  wide  her  arms  of  universal  love. 

And,  still  enlarged  as  she  receives  the  grace. 

Includes  creation  in  her  close  ejnbrace. 

Behold  a  Christian! — and  without  the  fires 

The  Founder  of  that  name  alone  inspires. 

Though  all  accomplishment,  all  knowledge  meet, 

To  make  the  shining  prodigy  complete, 

"Whoever  boasts  that  name — behold  a  cheat ! 

AVere  love,  in  these  the  world's  last  doting  years, 
As  frequent  as  the  want  of  it  appears,  605 

The  church's  warm'd,  they  Avould  no  longer  hold 
Such  frozen  figures,  stiff  as  they  are  cold ; 
Relenting  forms  would  lose  their  power,  or  cease; 
And  even  the  dipp'd  and  sprinkled,  live  in  peace; 
Each  heart  would  quit  its  prison  in  the  breast, 
And  fiow  in  free  communion  with  the  rest. 
The  statesman,  skilPd  in  projects  dark  and  deep. 
Might  burn  his  useless  Machiavel,  and  sleep ; 
His  budget,  often  fill'd,  yet  always  poor. 
Might  swing  at  ease  behind  his  study  door, 
No  longer  prey  upon  our  annual  rents,  616 


i 


CHARITY.  127 

"Nor  scare  the  nation  witli  its  big  contents: 

Disbanded  legions  freely  might  depart, 

And  slaying  man  would  cease  to  be  an  art. 

No  learned  disputants  would  take  the  field, 

Sure  not  to  conquer,  and  sure  not  to  yield; 

Both  sides  deceived,  if  rightly  understood, 

Pelting  each  other  for  tlie  public  good. 

Did  Charity  prevail,  the  press  would  prove 

A  vehicle  of  virtue,  truth,  and  love; 

And  I  might  spare  myself  the  pains  to  show  626 

"What  few  can  learn,  and  all  suppose  they  know. 

Thus  have  I  sought  to  grace  a  serious  lay 
With  many  a  wild,  indeed,  but  fiowery  spray, 
In  hopes  to  gain,  what  else  I  must  have  lost, 
The  attention  pleasure  has  so  much  engross'd. 
But  if,  unhappily  deceived,  I  dream. 
And  prove  too  Aveak  for  so  divine  a  theme. 
Let  Charity  forgive  me  a  mistake 
That  zeal,  not  vanity,  has  chanced  to  make, 
And  spare  the  poet  for  his  subject's  sake. 


CONYERSATION. 


Nam  Tieqne  mc  tantum  venientis  sibiUis  austri, 
Noc  percussa  juvant  fluctu  tarn  iitora,  nee  qnsa 
Saxosas  inter  decurrunt  fiumina  valles. 

YiEG.  Eel.  5. 


THE   ARGUMENT. 

Conversation  a  gift,  but  dependent  on  culture,  1— To  talk  not  always  to  converse,  8— 
Results  often  worthless,  15 — Impure  conversation  reprobated,  31— Profane  swear- 
ing condemned,  55— Unprofitable  debates,  81— Dogmatism  and  sophistry,  91— The 
scrupulously  cautious  in  conversation,  119— Opposite  error  of  positive  assertion, 
145— Point  of  honor  erroneously  deemed  useful,  163— Duelling  savage  and  dastard- 
ly, 171— Encounters  with  fists  recommended  in  preference,  195 — Tiresomeness  of 
long  tales,  203— Truthfulness  enforced,  217— Judicious  story-telling,  235— Smoking 
condemned,  245— Emphatic  speakers,  269— Coxcombry  of  different  sorts,  283— State 
of  health  made  a  subject  of  conversation,  311— Fretful  tempers,  325— Bashfulness, 
347— Often  the  effect  of  vanity,  363— Its  influence,  379— The  sportsman,  405— True 
idea  of  conversation,  427— Corrupted  by  fashion,  457— Converse  on  the  way  to 
Enimaus,  505— Such  as  God  approves,  537— Divine  truth  the  only  lasting  subject 
of  conversation,  547— Objections  made  to  it,  575— The  result  of  ignorance,  587— 
Christian  converse,  595— Age  mellows  the  speech,  639— Fanaticism,  651— Commu- 
nion of  the  good,  679— Conversation  should  be  spontaneous,  not  forced,  703— True 
religion  suspected  and  branded  as  hypocrisy.  719— Vindicated  from  the  charge,  7-19 
—Apology  for  digressing.  789— The  ])oet's  ignorance  of  the  world  may  have  led 
him  into  error.  798- Conversation  refined  and  purified  by  religion,  887. 

Though  Nature  weigh  onr  talents,  and  dispense 
To  every  man  liis  modicum  of  sense, 
And  Conversation,  in  its  better  part, 
May  be  esteemed  a  gift,  and  not  an  art. 
Yet  much  depends,  as  in  the  tiller's  toil, 
^On  culture,  and  the  sowing  of  the  soil. 
"Words  learird  by  rote,  a  parrot  may  reliearse, 
But  talking  is  not  always  to  converse ; 
Not  more  distinct  from  harmony  divine,. 
The  constant  creaking  of  a  country  sign. 
As  alphabets  in  ivory  employ. 
Hour  after  hour,  the  yet  unletter'd  boy,  12 


CONVERSATIOX.  129 

Sorting  and  puzzling  with  a  deal  of  glee 

Those  seeds  of  science  calPd  his  ABC: 

So  language  in  the  mouths  of  the  adult—   ^ 

Witness  its  insignificant  result — 

Too  often  proves  an  implement  of  play, 

A  toy  to  sport  with,  and  pass  time  away. 

Collect  at  evening  Avhat  the  day  hrought  forth, 

Compress  the  sum  into  its  solid  worth, 

And  if  it  weigh  the  importance  of  a  fly, 

The  scales  are  false,  or  algebra  a  lie.  23 

Sacred  interpreter  of  human  thought,         "* 

How  few  respect  or  use  thee  as  they  ought 

But  all  shall  give  account  of  every  wrong, 

Who  dare  dishonor  or  defile  the  tongue ; 

Who  prostitute  it  in  the  cause  of  vice,   . 

Or  sell  their  glory  at  a  market  price  ; 

Who  vote  for  hire,  or  point  it  with  lampoon, 

The  dear-bought  placeman,  and  the  cheap  buflfoon. 

There  is  a  prurience  in  the  speech  of  some. 
Wrath  stays  him,  or  else  God  would  strike  them  dumb  ; 
His  wise  forbearance  has  their  end  in  view,  83 

They  fill  their  measure,  and  receive  their  due. 
The  heathen  lawgivers  of  ancient  days, 
Names  almost  worthy  of  a  Christian's  praise. 
Would  drive  them  forth  from  the  resort  of  men, 
And  shut  up  every  satyr  in  his  den. 
Oh,  come  not  ye  near  innocence  and  truth, 
Ye  worms  that  eat  into  the  bud  of  youth  ! 
Infectious  as  impure,  your  blighting  power 
Taints  in  its  rudiments  tlie  promised  flower;        , 
Its  odor  perish'd  and  its  charming  hue. 
Thenceforth  'tis  hateful,  for  it  smells  of  you.  44 

Not  even  the  vigorous  and  lieadlong  rage 
Of  adolescence  or  a  firmer  age, 
Affords  a  plea  allowable  or  just. 
For  making  speech  the  pamperer  of  lust; 
But  when  the  breath  of  age  commits  the  fault, 
'Tis  nauseous  as  the  vapor  of  a  vault.  ^ 
So  witherM  stumps  disgrace  the  sylvan  scene, 
No  longer  fruitful,  and  no  longer  green ; 
The  sapless  wood,  divested  of  the  bark. 
Grows  fungous,  and  takes  fire  at  every  spark. 

Oaths  terminate,  as  Paul  observes,  all  strife —  55 


130  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Some  men  have  surely  then  a  peaceful  life. 
Whatever  subject  occupy  discourse, 
The  feats  of  Yestris,  or  the  naval  force, 
Asseveration  blustering  in  your  face 
Makes  contradiction  such  a  hopeless  case : 
In  every  tale  they  tell,  or  false  or  true, 
Well  known,  or  such  as  no  man  ever  knew, 
They  fix  attention,  heedless  of  your  pain. 
With  oaths  like  rivets  forced  into  the  brain ; 
And  even  when  sober  truth  prevails  throughout,  65 

f  They  swear  it,  till  affirmance  breeds  a  doubt. 
A  Persian,  Immble  servant  of  the  Sun, 
Wlio,  though  devout,  yet  bigotry  had  none, 
Hearing  a  lawyer,  grave  in  his  address, 
With  adjurations  every  word  impress, 
Supposed  the  man  a  bishop,  or  at  least, 
God's  name  so  much  upon  his  lips,  a  priest ; 
Bow'd  at  the  close  with  all  his  graceful  airs. 
And  begg'd  an  interest  in  his  frequent  prayers. 

Go,  quit  the  rank  to  which  ye  stood  preferred. 
Henceforth  associate  in  one  common  herd;  Y6 

Religion,  virtue,  reason,  common  sense, 
Pronounce  your  human  form  a  false  pretence, — 
A  mere  disguise,  in  which  a  devil  lur!:^, 
Who  yet  betrays  liis  secret  by  his  works. 

Ye  powers  who  rule  the  tongue,  if  such  there  are. 
And  make  colloquial  liappiness  your  care, 
Preserve  me  from  the  thing  I  dread  and  hate, 
A  duel  in  the  form  of  a  debate. 
The  clash  of  arguments  and  jar  of  words, 
Worse  than  the  mortal  brunt  of  rival  swords, 
Decide  no  question  with  their  tedious  length,  87 

For  opposition  gives  opinion  strength,      — ^ 
Divert  the  champions,  prodigal  of  breath. 
And  put  tlie  peaceably  disposed  to  death. 
Oh,  tliwart  me  not,  Sir  Soph,  at  every  turn, 
Nor  carp  at  every  flaw  you  may  discern ; 
Though  syllogisms  hang  not  on  my  tongue, 
I  am  not  surely  always  in  the  wrong! 
'Tis  hard  if  all  is  false  that  I  advance, 
A  fool  must  now  and  then  be  right  by  chance. 
Not  that  all  freedom  of  dissent  I  blame; 
No — tliere  I  grant  the  privilege  I  claim.  98 


CONVERSATION.  181 

A  disputable  point  is  no  man's  ground ; 

Rove  where  you  please,  'tis  common  all  around. 

Discourse  may  want  an  animated — No, 

To  brush  the  surface,  and  to  make  it  flow ; 

But  still  remember,  if  you  mean  to  please, 

To  press  your  point  with  modesty  and  ease. 

The  mark  at  which  my  juster  aim  I  take, 

Is  contradiction  for  its  own  dear  sake. 

Set  your  opinion  at  whatever  pitch, 

Knots  and  impediments  make  something  hitch ;  108 

Adopt  his  own,  'tis  equally  in  vain. 

Your  thread  of  argument  is  snapp'd  again; 

Tlio  wa-angler,  rather  than  accord  with. you, 

Will  judge  himself  deceiv'd, — and  prove  it  too. 

Vociferated  logic  kills  me  quite, — 

A  noisy  man  is  always  in  the  right; 

I  twirl  my  thumbs,  fall  back  into  my  chair, 

Fix  on  the  w^ainscot  a  distressful  stare, 

And,  Avhen  I  hope  his  blunders  are  all  out, 

Keply  discreetly — To  be  sure — no  doubt! 

DuBius  is  such  a  scrupulous  good  man —  119 

Yes — you  may  catch  him  tripj)ing,  if  you  can. 
He  would  not,  with  a  peremptory  tone, 
Assert  the  nose  upon  his  face  his  own; 
"With  hesitation  admirably  slow^, 
IJe  humbly  hopes — presumes — it  may  be  so. 
His  evidence,  if  he  were  call'd  by  law 
To  swear  to  some  enormity  he  saw. 
For  want  of  prominence  and  just  relief, 
AVould  hang  an  honest  man  and  save  a  thief. 
Through  constant  dread  of  giving  truth  offence. 
He  ties  up  all  his  hearers  in  suspense;  130 

IvnoAvs  what  he  knows,  as  if  he  knew  it  not ; 
AVhat  he  remembers,  seems  to  have  forgot; 
His  sole  opinion,  whatsoe'er  befall. 
Centering  at  last  in  having  none  at  all. 
Yet,  though  he  tease  and  balk  your  listening  ear, 
He  makes  one  useful  point  exceeding  clear; 
llowe'er  ingenious  on  his  darling  theme 
A  skeptic  in  philosophy  may  seem. 
Reduced  to  practice,  his  beloved  rule 
AVould  only  prove  him  a  consummate  fool. 
Useless  in  him  alike  both  brain  and  speech,  141 


132  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Fate  havinor  placed  all  truth  above  his  reach; 

His  ambiguities  his  total  sum, 

He  might  as  well  be  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb. 

Where  men  of  judgment  creep  and  feel  their  way, 
The  positive  pronounce  without  dismay ; 
Their  want  of  light  and  intellect  supplied 
By  sparks  absurdity  strikes  out  of  pride : 
"Without  the  means  of  knowing  right  from  wrong. 
They  always  are  decisive,  clear,  and  strong; 
Where  others  toil  with  philosophic  force,  151 

Their  nimble  nonsense  takes  a  sliorter  course, 
Flings  at  your  head  conviction  in  the  lump, 
And  gains  remote  conclusions  at  a  jump: 
Their  own  defect,  invisible  to  them. 
Seen  in  another,  they  at  once  condemn ; 
And,  though  self-idolized  in  every  case, 
Hate  their  own  likeness  in  a  brotlier's  face. 
The  cause  is  plain,  and  not  to  be  denied. 
The  proud  are  always  most  provoked  by  pride: 
Few  competitions  but  engender  spite. 
And  those  the  most,  where  neither  has  a  right.  162 

The  point  of  honor  has  been  deem'd  of  use, 
To  teach  good  manners,  and  to  curb  abuse : 
Admit  it  true,  the  consequence  is  clear. 
Our  polish'd  manners  are  a  mask  we  wear. 
And  at  the  bottom  barbarous  still  and  rude,    • 
We  are  restrain'd  indeed,  but  not  subdued. 
The  very  remedy,  however  sure. 
Springs  from  the  mischief  it  intends  to  cure, 
And  savage  in  its  principle  appears, 
Tried,  as  it  should  be,  by  the  fruit  it  bears. 
'Tis  hard,  indeed,  if  nothing  will  defend  173 

Mankind  from  quarrels  but  their  fatal  end ; 
That  now  and  then  a  hero  must  decease. 
That  the  surviving  world  may  live  in  peace. 
Perhaps  at  last  close  scrutiny  may  show 
The  practice  dastardly,  and  mean,  and  low ; 
That  men  engage  in  it  compell'd  by  force. 
And  fear,  not  courage,  is  its  proper  source ; 
The  fear  of  tyrant  custom,  and  the  fear 
Lest  fops  should  censure  us,  and  fools  should  sneer. 
At  least  to  trample  on  our  Maker's  laws, 
And  hazard  life  for  any  or  no  cause,  184- 


CONVERSATION'^^ 


To  rush  into  a  fix'd  eternal  state, 

Oat  of  tlie  very  flames  of  rage  and  hate, 

Or  send  another  shivering  to  tlie  har 

AVith  all  the  guilt  of  such  unnatural  war, 

AVhatever  use  may  urge,  or  honor  plead. 

On  reason's  verdict  is  a  madman's  deed. 

Am  I  to  set  my  life  upon  a  throw, 

Because  a  bear  is  rude  and  surly  ?     l^o — 

A  moral,  sensible,  and  well-bred  man 

AVill  not  affront  me,  and  no  other  can.  194 

Were  I  empower'd  to  regulate  the  lists. 

They  should  encounter  with  well-loaded  fists; 

A  Trojan  combat  would  be  something  new. 

Let  Dares  beat  Entellus  black  and  blue* 

Then  each  might  show,  to  liis  admiring  friends, 

In  honorable  bumps  his  rich  amends. 

And  carry,  in  contusions  of  his  skull, 

A  satisfactory  receipt  in  full. 

A  story,  in  which  native  humor  reigns. 
Is  often  useful,  always  entertains ; 

A  graver  fact,  enlisted  on  your  side,  20lj 

May  furnish  illustration,  well  applied ; 
But  sedentary  weavers  of  long  tales 
Give  me  the  fidgets,  and  my  patience  fails. 
'Tis  the  most  asinine  emplo}^  on  earth. 
To  hear  them  tell  of  parentage  and  birth, 
And  echo  conversations,  dull  and  dry, 
Embellisli'd  with,  lie  said,  and,  So  said  I 
At  every  interview  their  route  tlie  same, 
The  repetition  makes  attention  lame : 
AYe  bustle  up  with  unsuccessful  speed. 
And  in  the  saddest  part  cry — Droll  indeed!  216 

The  path  of  narrative  with  care  pursue, 
Still  making  probability  your  clue ; 
On  all  the  vestiges  of  truth  attend. 
And  let  them  guide  you  to  a  decent  end. 
Of  all  ambitions  man  may  entertain, 
The  Avorst  that  can  invade  a  sickly  brain. 
Is  that  which  angles  hourly  for  surprise. 
And  baits  its  hook  with  prodigies  and  lies. 
Credulous  infimcy,  or  age  as  weak, 
Are  fittest  auditors  for  such  to  seek, 
AVho  to  please  others  will  themselves  disgrace,  227 

12 


134  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Yet  please  not,  but  affront  you  to  your  face 
A  great  retailer  of  this  curious  ware, 
Having  unloaded  and  made  many  stare, 
Can  this  be  true  ?  an  arch  observer  cries — 
Yes  (rather  moved),  I  saw  it  with  these  eyes. 
Sir!  I  believe  it  on  that  ground  alone; 
I  could  not,  had  I  seen  it  with  my  own. 

A  tale  should  be* judicious,  clear,  succinct; 
The  language  plain,  and  incidents  well  link'd; 
Tell  not  as  new  what  everybody  knows,  237 

And,  new  or  old,  still  hasten  to  a  close ; 
There  centering  in  a  focus  round  and  neat, 
Let  all  your  rays  of  information  meet  r 
"What  neither  yields  us  profit  nor  delight 
Is  like  a  nurse's  lullaby  at  night ; 
Guy  Earl  of  Warwick  and  fair  Eleanore, 
Or  giant-killing  Jack,  would  please  me  more. 

The  pipe,  with  solemn  interposing  puff. 
Makes  half  a  sentence  at  a  time  enough  ; 
The  dozing  sages  drop  the  drowsy  strain. 
Then  pause,  and  puff — and  speak,  and  pause  again.     248 
Such  often,  like  the  tube  they  so  admire. 
Important  triflers!  have  more  smoke  than  fire. 
Pernicious  weed !  whose  scent  the  fair  annoys, 
Unfriendly  to  society's  chief  joys, 
Thy  worst  effect  is  banishing  for  hours 
The  sex  whose  presence  civilizes  ours. 
Thou  art  indeed  the  drug  a  gardener  wants, 
To  poison  vermin  that  infest  his  plants : 
But  are  we  so  to  wit  and  beauty  blind. 
As  to  despise  the  glory  of  our  kind. 
And  show  the  softest  minds  and  fairest  forms  259 

As  little  mercy  as^he  grubs  and  worms  ? 
They  dare  not  wait  the  riotous  abuse 
Thy  thirst-creating  steams  at  length  produce, 
When  wine  has  given  indecent  language  birth, 
And  forced  the  floodgates  of  licentious  mirth  ; 
For  seaborn  Venus  her  attachment  shows 
Still  to  that  element  from  which  she  rose. 
And,  with  a  quiet  which  no  fumes  disturb. 
Sips  meek  infusions  of  a  milder  herb. 

The  emphatic  speaker  dearly  loves  to  oppose, 
In  contact  inconvenient,  nose  to  nose,  270 


CONVERSATION.  135 

As  if  the  gnomon  on  liis  neighbor's  phiz, 

Touch'd  witli  a  magnet,  liad  attracted  his. 

His  whisper'd  theme,  dihited  and  at  large, 

Proves  alter  all  a  wind-gun's  airy  charge, — 

An  extract  of  his  diary — no  more, 

A  tasteless  journal  of  the  day  before. 

He  walk'd  abroad,  overtaken  in  the  rain, 

Call'd  on  a  friend,  drank  tea,  stepp'd  home  again ; 

Kesumed  his  purpose,  had  a  world  of  talk 

With  one  he  stumbled  on,  and  lost  his  walk.  280 

I  interrupt  him  with  a  sudden  bow. 

Adieu,  dear  sir !  lest  you  should  lose  it  now. 

I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, 
A  fine  puss-gentleman  that's  all  perfume; 
The  sight's  enough — no  need  to  smell  a  beau — 
Who  thrusts  his  nose  into  a  raree-show? 
His  odoriferous  attempts  to  please 
Perhaps  might  prosper  Avitli  a  swarm  of  bees; 
But  we  that  make  no  honey,  thougli  we  sting, 
Poets,  are  sometimes  apt  to  maul  the  thing. 
'Tis  wrong  to  bring  into  a  mix'd  resort,  291 

AVhat  makes  some  sick,  and  others  a-la-mor% 
An  argument  of  cogence,  we  may  say, 
AVhy  such  a  one  should  keep  himself  away. 

A  graver  coxcomb  we  may  sometimes  see, 
Quite  as  absurd,  though  not  so  light,  as  he : 
A  shallow  brain  behind  a  serious  mask, 
An  oracle  within  an  empty  cask. 
The  solemn  fop ;  significant  and  budge ; 
A  fool  with  judges,  amongst  fools  a  judge; 
He  says  but  little,  and  that  little  said 
Owes  all  its  weight,  like  loaded  dice,  to  lead.  802 

His  wit  invites  you  by  his  looks  to  come. 
But  when  you  knock,  it  never  is  at  home: 
'Tis  like  a  parcel  sent  you  by  the  stage. 
Some  handsome  present,  as  your  hopes  presage; 
'Tis  heavy,  bulky,  and  bids  fair  to  prove 
An  absent  friend's  fidelity  and  love ; 
But  wlien  un])ack'd,  your  disappointment  groans 
To  find  it  stuff \1  with  brickbats,  earth,  and  stones. 

Some  men  emi)l{)y  their  liealth,  an  ugly  trick, 
In  making  known  how  oft  they  have  been  sick, 
And  give  us,  in  recitals  of  disease,  313 


lo6  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  doctor's  trouble,  but  witbout  tbc  fees ; 

Relate  bow  many  weeks  tbey  kept  tbeir  bed, 

How  an  emetic  or  catbartic  sped ; 

Notbiug  is  sligbtly  toucb'd,  miicb  less  forgot, 

Nose,  ears,  and  eyes  seem  present  on  tbe  spot. 

Now  tbe  distemper,  spite  of  drangbt  or  pill. 

Victorious  seem'd,  and  now  tbe  doctor's  skill ; 

And  now — alas  for  unforeseen  misbaps! 

Tbey  put  on  a  damp  nigbtcap  and  relapse ; 

Tbey  tbougbt  tbey  must  bave  died,  tbey  were  so  bad ;  323 

Tbeir  peevisb  bearers  almost  wisb  tbey  bad. 

Some  fretful  tempers  wince  at  every  toucb, 

You  always  do  too  little  or  too  mucb  : 

You  speak  witb  life,  in  bopes  to  entertain, 

Your  elevated  voice  goes  tbrougb  tbe  brain ; 

You  fall  at  once  into  a  lower  key, 

Tbat's  worse — tbe  drone-pipe  of  an  bumble-bee. 

Tbe  soutbern  sasb  admits  too  strong  a  ligbt, 

You  rise  and  drop  tbe  curtain — now  'tis  nigbt. 

lie  sbakes  witb  cold — you  stir  tbe  fire  and  strive 

To  make  a  blaze — tbat's  roasting  bim  alive.  334 

Serve  bim  witb  venison,  and  be  cbooses  fisb ; 

Witb  sole — tbat's  just  tbe  sort  be  would  not  wisb. 

lie  takes  Avbat  be  at  first  profess'd  to  loatbe, 

And  in  due  time  feeds  beartily  on  botb ; 

Yet  still,  o'erclouded  witb  a  constant  frown, 

lie  does  not  swallow,  but  be  gulps  it  down. 

Your  bope  to  i)lease  bim  vain  on  every  plan, 

Himself  sbould  work  tbat  wonder  if  be  can. 

Alas!  bis  efforts  double  bis  distress, 

He  likes  yours  little,  and  bis  own  still  less. 

Tbus  always  teasing  otbers,  always  teased,  345 

His  only  pleasure  is — to  be  displeased. 

1  pity  basbful  men,  wbo  feel  tbe  pain 
Of  fancied  scorn  and  undeserved  disdain. 
And  bear  tbe  marks,  upon  a  blusbing  face. 
Of  needless  sbame  and  self-imposed  disgrace. 
Our  sensibilities  are  so  acute, 
Tbe  fear  of  being  silent  makes  us  mute. 
We  sometimes  tbink  we  could  a  speecb  produce 
Mucb  to  tbe  pur[)ose,  if  our  tongues  were  loose; 
Hut  being  tied,  it  dies  upon  tbe  li{). 
Paint  as  a  cbicken's  note  tbat  bas  tlie  pip :  350 


CONVERSATION".  137^ 

Our  wasted  oil  nnprofihibly  burns,  ^ 

Like  liidden  liinii)s  in  old  sepulchral  urns. 

Few  Frenchmen  of  this  evil  have  complained; 

It  seems  as  if  we  Britons  were  ordainM, 

}3y  way  of  wholesome  curb  upon  our  pride, 

To  fear  each  other,  fearing  none  beside. 

The  cause  perhaps  inquiry  may  descry, 

Self-searching  with  an  introverted  eye, 

ConcealM  within  an  imsuspected  part. 

The  vainest  corner  of  our  own  vain  heart:  366 

Forever  aiming  at  the  world's  esteem, 

Our  self-importance  ruins  its  own  scheme; 

In  other  eyes  our  talents  rarely  shown. 

Become  at  length  so  splendid  in  our  own, 

We  dare  not  risk  them  into  public  view, 

Lest  they  miscarry  of  what  seems  their  due. 

True  modesty  is^a  discerning  grace, 

And  only  blushes  in  tlie  proper  i)lace; 

But  counterfeit  is  blind,  and  skulks  through  fear, 

Where  'tis  a  shame  to  be  ashamed  to  appear: 

Humility  the  parent  of  the  lirst,  377 

The  last  by  Vanity  produced  and  nursed. 

The  circle  form'd,  we  sit  in  silent  state. 

Like  figures  drawn  upon  a  dial-plate ; 

Yes,  ma'am,  and  No,  ma'am,  utter'd  softly,  show 

Every  five  minutes  how  the  minutes  go; 

Each  individual  sufiering  a  constraint 

Poetry  may,  but  colors  cannot,  paint; 

As  if  in  close  committee  on  the  sky. 

Reports  it  hot  or  cold,  or  wet  or  dry ; 

And  finds  a  changing  clime  a  happy  source 

Of  wise  refiection  and  well-timed  discourse.  388 

We  next  inquire,  but  softly  and  by  stealth. 

Like  conservators  of  the  public  health. 

Of  epidemic  throats,  if  such  there  are. 

And  ct)ughs,  and  rheums,  and  phthisic,  and  catarrh. 

That  theme  exhausted,  a  wide  chasm  ensues, 

Fill'd  u[)  at  last  with  interesting  news. 

Who  danced  with  whom,  and  who  are  like  to  Aved, 

And  who  is  hang'd,  and  who  is  brought  to  bed; 

But  fear  to  call  a  more  important  cause. 

As  if  'twere  treason  against  English  laws. 

The  visit  paid,  with  ecstasy  we  come,  390 


138  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

As  from  a  seven  years'  transportation,  lionie, 
And  there  resume  an  unembarrassed  brow, 
Recovering  wliat  we  lost  we  know  not  how, 
The  faculties  tliat  seem'd  reduced  to  naught, 
Expression  and  tlie  privilege  of  thouglit. 

The  reeking,  roaring  hero  of  the  chase, 
I  give  him  over  as  a  desperate  case. 
Physicians  write  in  hopes  to  work  a  cure, 
[N'ever,  if  honest  ones,  when  death  is  sure ; 
And  thougli  the  fox  he  follows  may  be  tamed,  409 

A  mere  fox-follower  never  is  reclaimed. 
Some  farrier  should  prescribe  his  proper  course, 
Wliose  only  fit  companion  is  his  horse, 
Or  if,  deserving  of  a  better  doom, 
The  noble  beast  Judge  otherwise,  his  groom. 
Yet  even  the  rogue  that  serves  liim,  though  lie  stand 
To  take  his  honor's  orders,  cap  i'n  hand. 
Prefers  liis  fellow-grooms  witli  much  good  sense. 
Their  skill  a  truth,  his  master's  a  pretence. 
If  neither  horse  nor  groom  affect  the  squire. 
Where  can  at  last  his  jockeyship  retire?  420 

Oh,  to  the  club,  the  scene  of  savage  joys, 
The  school  of  coarse  good-fellowship  and  noise; 
There,  in  the  sweet  society  of  those 
"Whose  friendship  from  his  boyish  years  he  chose, 
Let  him  improve  his  talent  if  lie  can. 
Till  none  but  beasts  acknowledge  him  a  man. 

Man's  heart  had  been  impenetrably  sealM, 
Like  theirs  that  cleave  the  Hood  or  graze  the  field. 
Had  not  his  Maker's  all-bestowing  hand 
Given  him  a  soul,  and  bade  him  understand. 
The  reasoning  power  vouchsafed,  of  course  inferr'd    431 
The  power  to  clothe  that  reason  with  his  word: 
For  all  is  perfect  that  God  works  on  earth, 
And  He  that  gives  conception,  aids  the  birth. 
If  this  be  plain,  'tis  plainly  understood, 
What  uses  of  his  boon  the  Giver  Avould. 
The  mind,  dispatch'd  upon  her  busy  toil, 
Sliould  range  where  Providence  has  bless'd  the  soil; 
Visiting  every  llower  with  labor  meet, 
And  gathering  all  her  treasures  sweet  by  sweet, 
Slie  should  imbue  the  tongue  with  what  she  sips, 
And  shed  the  balmy  blessing  on  the  lips,  442 


CONVERSATION.  130 

That  good  diffused  may  more  abundant  grow, 

And  speech  may  praise  the  Power  that  bids  it  flow. 

Will  tlie  sweet  warbler  of  the  livelong  night, 

That  fills  the  listening  lover  with  delight, 

Forget  his  harmony,  with  rapture  heard, 

To  learn  tlie  twittering  of  a  meaner  bird? 

Or  make  the  parrot's  mimicry  his  choice, 

That  odious  libel  on  a  human  voice? 

No — Nature,  unsopliisticate  by  man, 

Starts  not  aside  from  her  Creator's  plan ;  452 

The  melody  that  was  at  first  design'd 

To  chiier  the  rude  forefathers  of  mankind, 

Is  note  for  note  deliver'd  in  our  ears, 

In  the  last  scene  of  her  six  thousand  years : 

Yet  Fashion,  leader  of  a  chattering  train, 

"Whom  man,  for  his  own  hurt,  permits  to  reign, 

Who  shifts  and  changes  all  things  but  his  shape, 

And  would  degrade  her  votary  to  an  ape, 

The  fruitful  parent  of  abuse  and  wrong, 

Holds  a  usurp'd  dominion  o'er -his  tongue; 

There  sits  and  prompts  him  with  his  own  disgrace,    463 

Prescribes  the  theme,  the  tone,  and  the  grimace. 

And,  when  accomplish'd  in  her  Avayward  school, 

'Calls  gentleman  whom  she  has  made  a  fool. 

'Tis  an  unalterable  fix'd  decree, 

That  none  could  frame  or  ratify  but  she, 

That  heaven  and  hell,  and  righteousness  and  sin, 

Snares  in  his  path,  and  foes  that  lurk  within, 

God  and  his  attributes  (a  field  of  day 

"Where  'tis  an  angel's  happiness  to  stray), 

Fruits  of  his  love  and  wonders  of  his  might, 

Be  never  named  in  ears  esteem'd  polite ;  474 

That  he  who  dares,  when  she  forbids,  be  grave, 

Shall  stand  proscribed,  a  madmun  or  a  knave, 

A  close  designer  not  to  be  believed. 

Or,  if  excused  that  charge,  at  least  deceived. 

Oh,  folly  worthy  of  the  nurse's  lap, 

Give  it  the  breast,  or  stop  its  mouth  with  pap ! 

Is  it  incredible,  or  can  it  seem 

A  dream  to  any  except  those  that  dream. 

That  man  should  love  his  Maker,  and  that  fire, 

Warming  his  heart,  should  at  his  lips  transpire? 

Know  then,  and  modestly  let  ^11  your  eyes,  485 


140  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  veil  your  daring  crest  that  braves  tlie  skies ; 

That  air  of  insolence  affronts  your  God, 

You  need  his  pardon,  and  provoke  his  rod : 

Now,  in  a  posture  that  becomes  you  more 

Than  that  heroic  strut  assumed  before, 

Know,  your  arrears  with  every  hour  accrue 

For  mercy  shown,  while  wrath  is  justly  due. 

The  time  is  short,  and  there  are  souls  on  earth, 

Though  future  pain  may  serve  for  present  mirth. 

Acquainted  with  the  woes  that  fear  or  shame,  495 

By  Fashion  taught,  forbade  them  once  to  name, 

And,  having  felt  the  pangs  you  deem  a  jest. 

Have  proved  them  truths  too  big  to  be  expressed. 

Go  seek  on  Revelation's  hallo w'd  ground. 

Sure  to  succeed,  the  remedy  tliey  found : 

Touch'd  by  that  Power  that  you  have  dared  to  mock, 

That  makes  seas  stable,  and  dissolves  the  rock, 

Your  heart  shall  yield  a  life-renewing  stream. 

That  fools,  as  you  have  done,  shall  call  a  dream. 

It  happened  on  a  solemn  eventide. 
Soon  after  lie  that  was  our  Surety  died,  506 

Two  bosom  friends,  each  pensively  inclined. 
The  scene  of  all  those  sorrows  left  behind. 
Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went 
In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event: 
Tliey  spake  of  Ilim  they  loved,  of  Ilim  whose  life. 
Though  blameless,  had  incurr'd  perpetual  strife. 
Whose  deeds  had  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 
A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 
The  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore. 
The  farther  traced,  enrichVl  them  still  the  more ; 
They  thought  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him,  one    517 
Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  to  have  done* 
To  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 
Above  all  else,  and  wonder'd  he  should  die. 
Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 
A  stranger  join'd  them,  courteous  as  a  friend. 
And  asked  them,  with  a  kind,  engaging  air, 
What  their  affliction  was,  and  begg'd  a  share. 
Inform'd,  he  gatherVl  up  the  broken  thread, 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said, 
Explain'd,  illustrated,  and  searched  so  well. 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell,         528 


CON  VERS  ATIOX.  141 

That,  rcvaching  home, — Tlie  night,  they  said,  is  near, 
We  must  not  now  be  parted ;  sojourn  here. 
Tlie  new  acquaintance  soon  became  a  guest, 
And,  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  bless'd  the  bread,  but  vanishM  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  'Twas  the  Lord! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  he  deign'd  to  say, 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  by  the  way? 

Now  theirs  was  converse  such  as  it  behooves 
Man  to  maintain,  and  such  as  God  api)roves;  538 

Their  views  indeed  were  indistinct  and  dim, 
But  yet  successful,  being  ainiM  at  him. 
Christ  and  his  character  their  only  scope, 
Their  object,  and  their  subject,  and  their  hope; 
They  felt  what  it  became  them  much  to  feel. 
And,  wanting  him  to  lose  the  sacred  seal, 
Found  him  as  prompt  as  their  desire  was  true, 
To  spread  the  new-born  glories  in  their  view. 

Well — what  are  ages  and  the  lapse  of  time 
Match'd  against  truths,  as  lasting  as  sublime? 
Can  length  of  years  on  God  himself  exact,  549 

Or  make  that  fiction  Avhich  was  once  a  fact? 
No — marble  and  recording  brass  decay, 
And,  like  the  graver''s  memory,  pass  away : 
The  works  of  man  inherit,  as  is  just, 
Their  author's  frailty,  and  return  to  dust: 
But  Truth  divine  forever  stands  secure, 
Its  head  as  guarded  as  its  base  is  sure; 
Fix'd  in  the  rolling  flood  of  endless  years, 
The  pillar  of  the  eternal  plan  appears. 
The  raving  storm  and  dasliing  wave  defies, 
Built  by  that  Architect  who  built  the  skies.  560 

Hearts  may  be  found  that  harbor  at  this  hour 
That  love  of  Christ  in  all  its  quickening  power; 
And  lips  unstain'd  by  folly  or  by  strife. 
Whose  wisdom,  drawn  from  the  deep  well  of  life, 
7'astes  of  its  healthful  origin,  and  flows 
A  Jordan  for  the  ablution  of  our  woes. 
O  days  of  heaven,  and  nights  of  equal  praise. 
Serene  and  peaceful  as  those  heavenly  days, 
Wlien  souls  drawn  upwards  in  counnunion  sweet 
Enjoy  the  stillness  of  some  close  retreat. 
Discourse,  as  if  released  and  safe  at  home,  571 


142  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Of  dangers  past,  and  wonders  yefc  to  come, 
And  spread  the  sacred  treasures  of  the  breast 
Upon  tlie  lap  of  covenanted  Rest ! 

What,  always  dreaming  over  heavenly  things, 
Like  angel-heads  in  stone  with  pigeon-wings? 
Canting  and  whining  out  all  day  the  word, 
And  half  the  night? — fanatic  and  absnrd! 
Mine  be  the  friend  less  frequent  in  his  prayers, 
Who  makes  no  bustle  with  his  soul's  affairs, 
"Whose  wit  can  brighten  up  a  wintry  day,  581 

And  chase  the  splenetic  dull  liours  away ; 
Content  on  eartli  in  earthly  things  to  shine, 
Who  waits  for  heaven  ere  he  becomes  divine, 
Leaves  saints  to  enjoy  those  altitudes  they  teach, 
And  plucks  the  fruit  placed  more  within  his  reach. 

Well  spoken,  advocate  of  sin  and  shame, 
Known  by  thy  bleating,  Ignorance  thy  name. 
Is  sparkling  wit  the  world's  exclusive  right, 
The  fix'd  fee-simple  of  the  vain  and  light? 
Can  hopes  of  heaven,  bright  prospects  of  an  hour, 
That  come  to  waft  us  out  of  Sorrow's  power,  592 

Obscure  or  quench  a  faculty  that  finds 
Its  happiest  soil  in  the  serenest  minds? 
Eeligion  curbs  indeed  its  wanton  play. 
And  brings  the  trifler  under  rigorous  sway, 
But  gives  it  usefulness  unknown  before, 
And,  purifying,  makes  it  shine  the  more. 
A  Christian's  wit  is  inoffensive  light, 
A  beam  that  aids,  but  never  grieves  the  sight; 
Vigorous  in  age  as  in  the  flush  of  youth, 
'Tis  always  active  on  the  side  of  truth  ; 
Temperance  and  peace  insure  its  healthful  state,  603 

And  make  it  brightest  at  its  latest  date. 
Oh,  I  have  seen  (nor  hope  perhaps  in  vain, 
Ere  life  go  down,  to  see  such  sights  again) 
A  veteran  warrior  in  the  Christian  field, 
AYho  never  saw  the  sword  he  could  not  wield ; 
Grave  without  dulness,  learned  without  pride. 
Exact,  yet  not  precise,  though  meek,  keen-eyed ; 
A  man  that  would  have  foil'd  at  their  own  play, 
A  dozen  would-be's  of  the  modern  day ; 
Who,  when  occasion  justified  its  use. 
Had  wit  as  bright  as  ready  to  produce,  614 


CONVERSATION,  143 

Could  fetcli  from  records  of  an  earlier  age, 

Or  from  pliiiosopliy's  enligliteiiVl  page, 

His  rich  materials,  and  regale  your  ear 

With  strains  it  was  a  privilege  to  hear , 

Yet  above  all,  his  luxury  supreme, 

And  his  chief  glory,  was  the  Gospel  theme; 

There  he  was  copious  as  old  Greece  or  Rome, 

His  happy  eloquence  seem'd  there  at  home, 

Ambitious,  not  to  shine  or  to  excel. 

But  to  treat  justly  what  he  loved  so  well.  624 

It  moves  me  more  perhaps  than  folly  ought, 
When  some  green  heads,  as  void  of  wit  as  thought. 
Suppose  themselves  monopolists  of  sense, 
And  wiser  men's  ability  pretence. 
Though  time  will  wear  us,  and  we  must  grow  old. 
Such  men  are  not  forgot  as  soon  as  cold, 
Their  fragrant  memory  will  outlast  their  tomb, 
Embalm'd  forever  in  its  own  perfume: 
And  to  say  truth,  though  in  its  early  prime. 
And  when  unstainVl  with  any  grosser  crime. 
Youth  has  a  sprightliness  and  lire  to  boast,  635 

That  in  the  valley  of  decline  are  lost. 
And  Virtue  with  peculiar  charms  appears, 
Crown'd  with  the  garland  of  life's  blooming  years ; 
Yet  Age,  by  long  experience  well  inform'd, 
Well  read,  well  temperVl,  with  religion  warm'd, 
That  fire  abated  which  impels  rash  youth. 
Proud  of  his  speed,  to  overshoot  the  truth, 
As  time  improves  the  grape's  authentic  juice. 
Mellows  and  makes  the  speech  more  fit  for  use, 
And  claims  a  reverence  in  its  shortening  day. 
That  'tis  an  honor  and  a  joy  to  pay.  646 

The  fruits  of  Age,  less  fair,  are  yet  more  sound. 
Than  those  a  brighter  season  pours  around ; 
And,  like  the  stores  autumnal  suns  mature. 
Through  wintry  rigors  unimpair'd  endure. 

What  is  fanatic  frenzy,  scorn'd  so  much, 
And  dreaded  more  than  a  contagious  toucli  ? 
I  grant  it  dangerous,  and  approve  your  fear, 
That  fire  is  catching,  if  you  draw  too  near; 
But  sage  observers  oft  mistake  the  flame. 
And  give  true  piety  that  odious  name. 
To  tremble  (as  the  creature  of  an  hour  657 


144  COWPEk's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

Ought  fit  the  view  of  an  Ahniglity  power) 

Before  His  presence,  at  whose  awful  throne 

All  tremble  in  all  Avorlds,  except  our  own; 

To  supplicate  his  mercy,  love  his  ways, 

And  prize  them  above  pleasure,  wealth,  or  praise, 

Though  connnon  sense,  allow'd  a  casting  voice, 

And  free  from  bias,  must  approve  the  choice, 

Convicts  a  man  fanatic  in  the  extreme, 

And  wild  as  madness  in  the  world's  esteem. 

But  that  disease,  wlien  soberly  defined,  G67 

Is  the  false  lire  of  an  o'erheated  mind; 

It  views  the  truth  with  a  distorted  eye. 

And  eitlier  warps  or  lays  it  useless  by; 

'Tis  narrow,  selfish,  arrogant,  and  draws 

Its  sordid  nourishment  from  man's  applause; 

And  while  at  heart  sin  unrelinquished  lies, 

Presumes  itself  chief  favorite  of  the  skies. 

'Tis  such  a  light  as  putrefaction  breeds 

In  fly-blown  flesh,  whereon  the  maggot  feeds, 

Shines  in  the  dark,  but,  usherM  into  day, 

The  stench  remains,  the  lustre  dies  away.  678 

True  bliss,  if  man  may  reach  it,  is  composed 
Of  hearts  in  union  mutually  disclosed  : 
And,  farewell  else  all  bope  of  ])ure  delight. 
Those  hearts  should  be  recjaim'd,  rencwM,  upright. 
Bad  men,  profaning  friendship's  hallow'd  name, 
Form,  in  its  stead,  a  covenant  of  shame, 
A  dark  confederacy  against  the  laws 
Of  virtue,  and  religion's  glorious  cause: 
They  build  each  other  up  witli  dreadful  skill, 
As  bastions  set  point-blank  against  God's  will; 
Enlarge  and  fortify  the  dread  redoubt,  689 

r)eei)ly  resolved  to  shut  a  Saviour  out; 
Call  legions  up  from  hell  to  back  the  deed, 
And,  cursed  with  con(piest,  finally  succeed  : 
But  souls  that  carry  on  a  blest  exchange 
Of  joys  they  meet  with  in  their  heavenly  range. 
And  with  a  fearless  confidence  make  known 
The  sorrows  sympathy  esteems  its  own. 
Daily  derive  increasing  light  and  force 
From  such  communion  in  their  pleasant  course; 
Feel  less  the  Journey's  roughness  and  its-length. 
Meet  their  opposers  with  united  strength,  700 


CONVERSATION.  145 

And,  one  in  heart,  in  interest,  and  design, 
Gird  up  each  other  to  the  race  divine. 

But  Conversation,  choose  wliat  theme  we  may, 
And  chiefly  when  religion  leads  the  way, 
Should  flow,  like  waters  after  summer  showers, 
Not  as  if  raised  by  mere  mechanic  powers. 
The  Christian,  in  whose  soul,  though  now  distressed. 
Lives  the  dear  thought  of  joys  he  once  possessed, 
When  all  his  glowing  language  issued  forth 
"With  God's  deep  stamp  ui)on  its  current  worth,  710' 

W^ill  speak  without  disguise,  and  must  impart, 
Sad  as  it  is,  his  undissembling  heart 
Abhors  constraint,  and  dares  not  feign  a  zeal. 
Or  seem  to  boast  a  Are,  he  does  not  feel. 
The  song  of  Ziou  is  a  tasteless  thing. 
Unless,  when  rising  on  a  joyful  wing, 
The  soul  can  mix  with  the  celestial  bands, 
And  give  the  strain  the  compass  it  demands. 

Strange  tidings  these  to  tell  a  world  who  treat 
All  but  their  own  experience  as  deceit! 
Will  they  believe,  though  credulous  enough  721 

To  swallow  mucli  upon  much  weaker  ])r()of, 
That  tliere  are  blest  inhabitants  of  earth. 
Partakers  of  a  new  ethereal  birth. 
Their  hopes,  desires,  and  jyurposes  estranged 
From  things  terrestrial,  and  divinely  changed. 
Their  very  language  of  a  kind  that  speaks 
The  souFs  sure  interest  in  the  good  she  seeks, 
Who  deal  with  Scrii)ture,  its  importance  felt. 
As  Tully  with  ])hilosoi)hy  once  dealt. 
And,  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night, 
And  through  the  scenes  of  tod-renewing  light,  732; 

The  social  walk,  or  solitary  ride, 
Keep  still  the  dear  companion  at  their  side? 
No — shame  upon  a  self-disgracing  age, 
God's  work  may  serve  an  ape  upon  a  stage 
"With  such  a  jest  as  flll'd  Avith  hellish  glee 
Certain  invisibles  as  shrewd  as  he; 
But  veneration  or  respect  finds  none. 
Save  from  the  subjects  of  that  work  alone. 
The  W\)rld  grown  old,  her  deep  discernment  shows, 
Claps  spectacles  on  her  sagacious  nose, 
Peruses  closely  the  true  Christian's  face,  743- 

13 


146  cowper's  poetiCx\l  works. 

And  finds  it  a  mere  mask  of  sly  grimace, 

Usurps  God's  office,  lays  his  bosom  bare. 

And  finds  hypocrisy  close  lurking  there ; 

And,  serving  God  herself  through  mere  constraint, 

Concludes  his  unfeign'd  love  of  him  a  feint. 

And  yet,  God  knows,  look  human  nature  through 

(And  in  due  time  tlie  World  shall  know  it  too), 

That  since  the  flowers  of  Eden  felt  the  blast. 

That  after  man's  defection  laid  all  waste. 

Sincerity  towards  the  heart-searching  God  753 

Has  made  the  new-born  creature  her  abode, 

Nor  shall  be  found  in  unregenerate  souls 

Till  the  last  fire  burn  all  between  the  poles. 

Sincerity!  why,  'tis  his  only  pride  ; 

Weak  and  imperfect  in  all  grace  beside. 

He  knows  that  God  demands  his  heart  entire, 

And  gives  him  all  his  just  demands  require. 

Without  it,  his  pretensions  Avere  as  vain 

As,  having  it,  he  deems  the  World's  disdain; 

Tliat  great  defect  w^ould  cost  him  not  alone 

Man's  favorable. judgment,  but  his  own;  764 

His  birthright  shaken,  and  no  longer  clear 

Than  while  his  conduct  proves  his  heart  sincere: 

Retort  the  charge,  and  let  the  World  be  told 

She  boasts  a  confidence  she  does  not  hold ; 

That,  conscious  of  her  crimes,  she  feels  instead 

A  cold  misgiving  and  a  killing  dread; 

That  while  in  health,  the  ground  of  her  support 

Is  madly  to  forget  that  life  is  short ; 

That  sick,  she  trembles,  knowing  she  must  die. 

Her  hope  presumption,  and  her  faith  a  lie ; 

That  while  she  dotes  and  dreams  that  she  believes,     775 

She  mocks  her  Maker,  and  herself  deceives  ; 

Her  utmost  reach,  historical  assent, 

The  doctrines  warpxl  to  what  they  never  meant; 

That  truth  itself  is  in  her  head  as  dull 

And  useless  as  a  candle  in  a  skull ; 

And  all  her  love  of  God  a  groundless  claim, 

A  trick  upon  the  canvas,  painted  flame. 

Tell  her  again,  the  sneer  upon  her  face. 

And  all  her  censures  of  the  work  of  grace, 

Are  insincere,  meant  only  to  conceal 

A  dread  she  would  not,  yet  is  forced,  to  feel ;  780 


CONVERSATION'.  147 

That  in  lier  heart  the  Christian  slie  reveres, 
And  while  she  seems  to  scorn  liini,  only  fears. 

A  |)oet  does  not  work  by  square  or  line, 
As  smiths  and  joiners  perfect  a  design ; 
At  least  we  moderns,  our  attention  less, 
Ik^yond  the  example  of  our  sires  digress, 
And  claim  a  right  to  scamper  and  run  wide, 
Wherever  chance,  caprice,  or  fancy  guide. 
The  World  and  I  fortuitously  met, 

I  owed  a  trifle,  and  have  paid  the  debt;  796 

She  did  me  wrong,  I  recompensed  the  deed. 
And,  having  struck  the  balance,  now  proceed. 
Perhaps,  however,  as  some  years  have  passed 
Since  she  and  I  conversed  together  last, 
And  I  have  lived  recluse  in  rural  shades. 
Which  seldom  a  distinct  report  pervades. 
Great  changes  and  new  manners  have  occurr'd, 
And  blest  reforms  that  I  have  never  lieard, 
And  she  may  now  be  as  discreet  and  wise, 
As  once  absurd  in  all  discerning  eyes. 
Sobriety  perhaps  may  now  be  found  807 

Where  once  Intoxication  ])ress\l  the  ground; 
The  subtle  and  injurious  may  be  just. 
And  he  grown  chaste  that  was  the  slave  of  lust ; 
Arts  once  esteemVl  may  be  with  shame  dismiss^ ;     ' 
Charity  may  relax  the  miser's  list ; 
The  gamester  may  have  cast  liis  cards  away, 
Forgot  to  curse,  and  only  kneel  to  pray. 
It  has  indeed  been  told  me  (with  what  Aveight, 
How  credibly,  'tis  hard  for  me  to  state) 
That  fables  old,  that  seem'd  forever  mute, 
Eevived,  are  hastening  into  fresh  repute,  818 

And  gods  and  goddesses,  discarded  long. 
Like  useless  lumber,  or  a  stroller's  song. 
Are  bringing  into  vogue  their  heathen  train, 
And  Ju[>iter  bids  fair  to  rule  again ; 
Tliat  certain  feasts  are  instituted  now, 
Where  Venus  hears  the  lovers  tender  vow; 
That  all  Olympus  through  the  country  roves. 
To  consecrate  our  few  remaining  groves. 
And  Echo  learns  politely  to  repeat 
The  X)raise  of  names  for  ages  obsolete; 
That  having  proved  the  weakness,  it  should  seem,      820 


H8  cowpek's  poetical  works. 

Of  Revelation's  ineffectual  beam, 
To  bring  the  passions  under  sober  sway, 
And  give  the  moral  springs  their  proper  play, 
They  mean  to  try  what  may  at  last  be  done, 
By  stout  substantial  gods  of  wood  and  stone, 
And  whether  Roman  rites  may  not  produce 
The  virtues  of  old  Rome  for  English  use. 
May  such  success  attend  the  pious  plan, 
May  Mercury  once  more  embellish  man, 
Grace  him  again  with  long-forgotten  arts,  839 

Reclaim  his  taste,  and  brighten  up  his  parts, 
Make  him  athletic  as  in  days  of  old, 
Learn'd  at  the  bar,  in  the  palaestra  bold. 
Divest  the  rougher  sex  of  female  airs, 
And  teach  the  softer  not  to  copy  theirs: 
The  change  shall  please,  nor  sliall  it  matter  aught 
Wlio  works  the  wonder,  if  it  be  but  wrought. 
'Tis  time,  however,  if  the  case  stands  thus. 
For  us  plain  folks,  and  all  who  side  with  us. 
To  build  our  altar,  confident  and  bold, 
And  say,  as  stern  Elijah  said  of  old,  850 

The  strife  now  stands  upon  a  fair  award, 
If  Israers  Lord  be  God,  then  serv^e  the  Lord; 
If  lie  be  silent,  fjiith  is  all  a  whnn, 
Then  Baal  is  the  God,  and  worship  him. 
Digression  is  so  much  in  modern  use. 
Thought  is  so  rare,  and  fancy  so  profuse. 
Some  never  seem  so  wide  of  their  intent. 
As  when  returning  to  the  theme  they  meant; 
As  mendicants,  whose  business  is  to  roam. 
Make  every  parish  but  their  own  their  home. 
Though  such  continual  zig-zags  in  a  book,  861 

Such  drunken  reelings,  have  an  awkward  look, 
And  I  had  rather  creep  to  what  is  true. 
Than  rove  and  stagger  witli  no  mark  in  view ; 
Yet  to  consult  a  little,  seemM  no  crime. 
The  freakish  humor  of  the  present  time. 
But  now  to  gather  up  what  seems  dispersed, 
And  touch  the  subject  I  designed  at  first. 
May  prove,  though  much  beside  the  rules  of  art, 
Best  for  the  public,  and  riiy  wisest  part. 
And  first,  let  no  man  charge  me  that  I  mean 
To  clothe  in  sable  every  social  scene,  872 


CONVERSATION.  14? 

And  give  good  company  a  face  severe, 

As  if  they  met  around  a  father's  bier; 

For  tell  some  men,  that  pleasure  all  tlieir  bent, 

And  laughter  all  their  work,  is  life  misspent, 

Their  wisdom  bursts  into  this  sage  reply. 

Then  mirth  is  sin,  and  we  should  always  cry. 

To  find  the  medium  asks  some  share  of  wit, 

And  therefore  'tis  a  mark  fools  never  hit. 

But  though  life's  valley  be  a  vale  of  tears, 

A  brighter  scene  beyond  that  vale  appears,  882 

"Whose  glory,  with  a  light  that  never  fades. 

Shoots  between  scattered  rocks  and  opening  shades  j 

And  while  it  shows  the  land  the  soul  desires, 

The  language  of  the  land  she  seeks  inspires. 

Thus  touch'd,  the  tongue  receives  a  sacred  cure 

Of  all  that  was  absurd,  profjine,  impure ; 

Held  within  modest  bounds,  the  tide  of  speech 

Pursues  the  course  that  Truth  and  Nature  teach ; 

No  longer  labors  merely  to  produce 

The  pomp  of  sound,  or  tinkle  without  use: 

"Where'er  it  winds,  the  salutary  stream,  893 

Sprightly  and  fresh,  enriches  every  theme; 

"While  all  the  happy  man  possessed  before, 

The  gift  of  nature,  or  the  classic  store. 

Is  made  subservient  to  the  grand  design. 

For  which  Heaven  form VI  the  faculty  divine. 

So,  should  an  idiot,  while  at  large  he  strays. 

Find  the  sweet  lyre  on  which  an  artist  plays. 

With  rash  and  awkward  force  the  chords  he  shakes, 

And  grins  with  wonder  at  the  jar  he  makes ; 

But  let  the  wise  and  well-instructed  hand 

Once  take  the  shell  beneath  his  just  command,  904 

In  gentle  sounds  it  seems  as  it  c'omplain'd 

Of  the  rude  injuries  it  late  sustained, 

'Till,  tuned  at  length  to  some  immortal  song. 

It  sounds  Jehovah's  name,  and  pours  his  praise  along. 


EETIREMENT. 


-  studiis  florens  ignobilis  oil— Virq,  Geoko  Lib.  ir. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Retirement  from  busy  life  generally  desired,  1— Rarely  improved,  40— Happy,  if 
consecrated  to  the  service  of  God  and  to  meditation  on  his  works,  45— Retirement 
favorable  to  spiritual  improvement,  117— Panorama  of  human  life,  147 — Various 
motives  for  courting  retirement,  169— The  poet's  motives,  187— The  lover's,  219— 
Hypochondria,  279— Meets  with  little  sympathy,  301— Cure  to  be  sought  in  the 
favor  of  God,  343— The  retired  statesman,  365— His  anticipations  of  enjoyment, 
381— Set  free  from  the  cares  of  life,  391— Requires  society,  and  selects  a  friend,  437 
His  employment  begins  to  pall,  457— Returns  to  the  world,  479— Suburban  villas, 
481— The  citizen's  idea  of  country  life,  487— Seaside  enjoyments,  515— The  ocean, 
625— The  spendthrift's  involuntary  retirement,  559— The  sportsman  turned  ostler, 
575— Difficulty  of  managing  leisure,  611  — Its  responsibilities,  649— Good  books 
necessary  to  retirement,  683— Friends,  719— And  divine  communion,  743— Religion 
does  not  forbid  harmless  enjoyments,  783— The  poet's  own  employment  ot  retire- 
ment, 801. 

Hackxey'd  ill  business,  wearied  at  that  oar 

"VVhicli  thousands,  once  fast  chained  to,  quit  no  more, 

But  which,  when  life  at  ebb  runs  weak  and  low, 

All  wish,  or  seem  to  wish,  they  could  forego ; 

The  statesman,  lawyer,  merchant,  man  of  trade,         5 

Pants  for  the  refuge  of  some  rural  shade, 

AVhere,  all  his  long  anxieties  forgot 

Amid  the  charms  of  a  sequestered  spot, 

vQr  recollected  only  to  gild  o'er. 

And  add  a  smile  to  what  was  sweet  before, 

He  may  possess  the  joys  he  thinks  he  sees. 

Lay  his  old  age  upon  the  lap  of  ease. 

Improve  the  remnant  of  his  wasted  span. 

And,  having  lived  a  tritler,  die  a  man. 

Thus  Conscience  pleads  her  cause  within  the  breast, 

Though  long  rebell'd  against,  not  yet  suppress'd,       16 


RETIREMENT.  151 

And  calls  a  creature  form'd  for  God  alone, 

For  Heaven's  lii^di  purposes,  and  not  liis  own, 

Calls  him  away  from  selfisli  ends  and  aims, 

From  what  dehilitates  and  what  intlames. 

From  cities  hunnning  with  a  restless  crowd. 

Sordid  as  active,  ignorant  as  loud, 

"Whose  highest  praise  is  that  tliey  live  in  vain. 

The  dupes  of  pleasure,  or  the  slaves  of  gain; 

"Where  works  of  man  are  clustered  close  around, 

And  works  of  God  are  hardly  to  be  found,  2G 

To  regions  where,  in  spite  of  sin  and  woe, 

Traces  of  Eden  are  still  seen  below, 

Where  mountain,  river,  forest,  field,  and  grove.    } 

Ivemind  him  of  his  Maker's  power  and  love. 

'Tis  well  if,  look'd  for  at  so  late  a  day. 

In  the  last  scene  of  such  a  senseless  l>lay, 

True  wisdom  will  attend  his  feeble  call. 

And  grace  his  action  ere  the  curtain  fall. 

Souls  that  have  long  despised  their  heavenly  birtli. 

Their  wishes  all  impregnated  with  earth. 

For  threescore  years  employed  with  ceaseless  care        37 

In  catching  smoke  and  feeding  upon  air. 

Conversant  only  with  the  ways  of  men. 

Rarely  redeem  the  short  remaining  ten. 

Inveterate  habits  choke  the  unfruitful  heart. 

Their  fibres  penetrate  its  tenderest  pnrt, 

And  draining  its  nutritious  powers  to  feed 

Their  noxious  growth,  starve  every  better  seed. 

Happy,  if  full  of  days — but  liappier  far, 
If,  ere  we  yet  discern  life's  evening  star. 
Sick  of  the  service  of  a  world  tliat  feeds 
Its  patient  drudges  with  dry  chaff  and  weeds,  48 

"We  can  escape  from  Custom's  idiot  sway. 
To  serve  the  Sovereign  we  were  born  to  obey. 
Then  sweet  to  nmse  upon  his  skill  display'd  • 
(Infinite  skill !)  in  all  that  he  has  made! 
To  trace  in  Nature's  most  minute  design 
The  signature  and  stamp  of  power  divine. 
Contrivance  intricate,  express'd  with  ease, 
Where  unassisted  sight  no  beauty  sees. 
The  shapely  limb  and  lubricated  joint, 
AVithin  the  small  dimensions  of  a  point, 
Muscle  and  nerve  mii*aculously  spun,  59 


152  COWPEll's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

His  miglity  work,  who  speaks  and  it  is  done, 

The  invisible  in  things  scarce  seen  reveal'd, 

To  wlioni  an  atom  is  an  ample  tield ; 

To  wonder  at  a  thousand  insect  forms, 

These  hatcliM,  and  those  resuscitated  worms, 

ISTew  life  ordainM,  and  brighter  scenes  to  share, 

Once  prone  on  earth,  now  buoyant  upon  air, 

AVhose  shape  would  make  them,  had  they  bulk  and  size. 

More  hideous  foes  than  foncy  can  devise  ; 

With  helmet  heads  and  dragon  scales  adorn'd,  69 

The  mighty  myriads,  now  securely  scorn'd, 

AVould  mock  the  majesty  of  man's  high  birth, 

Despise  his  bulwarks,  and  unpeople  earth : 

Then  with  a  glance  of  fancy  to  survey, 

Far  as  the  faculty  can  stretch  away. 

Ten  thousand  rivers  pour'd  at  his  command. 

From  urns  that  never  fail,  through  every  land ; 

These  like  a  deluge  with  impetuous  force. 

Those  Avinding  modestly  a  silent  course; 

The  clcMid-surmounting  Alps,  the  fruitful  vales; 

Seas  on  which  every  nation  spreads  lier  sails;  80 

The  sun,  a  world  whence  other  worlds  drink  light, 

The  crescent  moon,  the  diadem  of  night: 

Stars  countless,  each  in  his  appointed  place. 

Fast  anchored  in  the  deep  abyss  of  space — 

At  such  a  sight  to'catch  the  poet's  tiame. 

And  with  a  rapture  like  his  own  exclaim, 

These  are  tliy  glorijous  works,  thou  Source  of  Good! 

How  dimly  seen,  how  faintly  understood! 

Thine,  and  upheld  by  thy  paternal  care. 

This  universal  frame,  thus  wondrous  fair; 

Thy  power  divine,  and  bounty  beyond  thought,  91 

Adored  and  praised  in  all  that  thou  hast  wrought. 

Absorbed  in  that  inmiensity  I  see, 

I  shrink  abased,  and  yet  aspire  to  thee ; 

Instruct  me,  guide  me  to  tliat  heavenly  day 

Tliy  words,  more  clearly  than  thy  works,  display, 

That,  Avhile  thy  truths  my  grosser  thoughts  reiine, 

1  may  resemble  thee,  and  call  thee  mine. 

O  blest  proficiency !  surpassing  all 
That  men  erroneously  tlieir  glory  call, 
The  recompense  that  arts  or  arms  can  yield, 
The  bar,  the  senate,  or  the  tented  Held.  102 


RETIREMENT.  153 

Compared  Avitli  this  sublimest  life  below, 

Ye  kings  and  rulers,  wliat  liave  courts  to  show? 

Tiius  studied,  used,  and  consecrated  thus. 

On  earth  what  is,  seems  form'd  indeed  for  us; 

Not  as  tlie  plaything  of  a  fro  ward  child, 

Fretful  unless  diverted  and  beguiled. 

Much  less  to  feed  and  Ian  the  fatal  fires 

Of  pride,  ambition,  or  impure  desires. 

But  as  a  scale  by  which  the  soul  ascends 

From  mighty  means  to  more  important  ends,  112 

Securely,  though  by  steps  but  rarely  trod. 

Mounts  from  inferior  beings  up  to  God, 

And  sees,  by  no  fallacious  light  or  dim, 

Earth  made  for  man,  and  man  himself  for  Him. 

Not  that  I  mean  to  approve,  or  would  enforce, 
A  superstitious  and  monastic  course; 
Truth  is  not  local,  God  alike  pervades 
And  fills  the  world  of  traffic  and  the  shades, 
And  may  be  fear\l  amid  the  busiest  scenes. 
Or  scorn'd  where  business  never  intervenes. 
But  'tis  not  easy  with  a  mind  like  ours,  123 

Conscious  of  weakness  in  its  noblest  i)()wers, 
And  in  a  world  wliere,  other  ills  apart, 
The  roving  eye  misleads  the  careless  heart. 
To  limit  Thought,  by  nature  prone  to  stray 
Wherever  freakish  Fancy  points  the  way; 
To  bid  the  pleadings  of  Self-love  be  still, 
Resign  our  own  and  seek  our  Maker's  will ; 
To  spread  the  page  of  Scii[)ture,  and  compare 
Our  conduct  with  tlie  laws  engraven  there; 
To  measure  all  that  passes  in  the  breast, 
Faithfully,  lairly,  by  that  sacred  test;  134 

To  dive  into  the  secret  deeps  within, 
To  spare  no  ])assion  and  no  favorite  sin. 
And  search  the  tiiemes,  important  above  all, 
Ourselves,  and  our  recovery  from  our  fall. 
But  leisure,  silence,  and  a  mind  released 
From  anxious  thoughts  how  wealth  may  be  increased; 
How  to  secure,  in  some  i)ro[)iti()US  hour, 
The  iK>int  of  interest  or  the  post  of  power; 
A  soul  serene,  and  eriually  retired 
From  objects  too  nnich  dreaded  or  desired, 
Safe  from  the  clamors  of  perverse  dispute,  14j 


1*54  cowper's  poetical  works. 

At  least  are  friendly  to  tlie  great  pursuit. 

— Opening  the  map  of  God's  extensive  plan, 

We  find  a  little  isle,  this  life  of  man; 

Eternity's  unknown  ex})anse  appears 

Circling  around  and  limiting  his  years. 

Tlie  busy  race  examine  and  explore 

Each  creek  and  cavern  of  the  dangerous  shore, 

AYith  care  collect  what  in  their  eyes  excels, 

Some,  shining  pebbles,  and  some,  Aveeds  and  shells; 

Tlius  laden,  dream  that  they  are  rich  and  great, 

And  happiest  he  that  groans  beneath  his  weight: 

The  waves  o'ertake  them  in  their  serious  play. 

And  every  hour  sweeps  nndtitudes  away; 

They  shriek  and  sink,  survivors  start  and  weep, 

Pursue  their  s])ort,  and  follow  to  the  deep: 

A  few  forsake  the  throng;  with  lifted  eyes 

Ask  wealth  of  Heaven,  and  gain  a  real  i)rize. 

Truth,  wisdom,  grace,  and  I'cace  like  that  above, 

Seal'd  with  His  signet  whom  they  serve  and  love; 

Scorn'd  by  the  rest,  with  patient  hoi)e  they  wait 

A  kind  release  from  their  im[)erfect  state, 

And  unregretted  are  soon  snatch'd  away 

From  scenes  of  sorrow  into  glorious  day. 

Nor  these  alone  prefer  a  lite  recluse, 
Who  seek  retirement  for  its  ])roper  use; 
The  love  of  change,  that  lives  in  every  breast, 
Genius,  and  temper,  and  desire  of  rest. 
Discordant  motives  in  one  centre  meet. 
And  each  inclines  its  votary  to  retreat. 
Some  minds  by  nature  are  avers-e  to  noise,  ^ 
And  hate  the  tumult  half  the  world  enjoys. 
The  lure  of  avarice,  or  the  pompous  prize 
That  courts  display  before  ambitious  eyes ; 
The  fruits  that  hang  on  pleasure's  flowery  stem, 
Wliate'er  enchants  them,  are  no  snares  to  them. 
To  them  the  deep  recess  of  dusky  groves, 
Or  forest  where  the  deer  securely  roves. 
The  fall  of  waters  and  the  song  of  birds. 
And  hills  that  echo  to  the  distant  herds. 
Are  luxuries  excelling  all  the  glare 
The  world  can  boast,  and  her  chief  tavorites  share. 
Witli  eager  step,  and  carelessly  array'd, 
For  such  a  cause  the  poet  seeks  the  shade  :  188 


RETIREMENT.  155 

From  all  lie  sees  he  catches  new  deliglit, 

Pleased  Fancy  claps  lier  pinions  at  the  sight ; 

The  rising  or  the  setting  orh  of  day, 

The  clouds  that  tlit,  or  slowly  lloat  away, 

Nature  in  all  the  various  shapes  she  Avears, 

Frowning  in  storms,  or  hreathing  gentle  airs, 

The  snowy  robe  her  wintry  state  assumes, 

Iler  sunnner  heats,  her  fruits,  and  her  perfumes, — 

All,  all  alike  transport  the  glowing  bard. 

Success  in  rhyme  his  glory  and  reward.  198 

0  Nature !  whose  Elysian  scenes  disclose 

His  bright  perfections  at  whose  word  they  rose. 

Next  to  that  power  who  fornrd  thee  and  sustains, 

Be  thou  the  great  inspirer  of  my  strains. 

Still,  as  I  touch  the  lyre,  do  thou  expand 

Thy  genuine  charms,  and  guide  an  artless  hand. 

That  I  may  catch  a  tire  but  rarely  known. 

Give  useful  light,  though  I  should  miss  renown, 

And,  poring  on  thy  page,  whose  every  line 

Bears  proof  of  an  intelligence  divine, 

May  feel  a  heart  enrich\l  by  what  it  ]xays,  209 

That  builds  its  glory  on  its  Maker's  i)raise. 

Woe  to  the  man  whose  wit  disclaims  its  use, 

Glittering  in  vain,  or  only  to  seduce, 

AVho  studies  nature  with  a  wanton  eye. 

Admires  the  work,  but  slips  the  lesscm  by. 

His  hours  of  leisure  and  recess  employs 

In  drawing  i)ictures  of  forbidden  joys. 

Retires  to  bhizon  his  own  worthless  name, 

Or  shoot  the  careless  with  a  surer  aim! 

The  lover  too  shuns  business  and  alarms. 
Tender  idolater  of  absent  charms.  220 

Saints  oiFer  nothing  in  their  warmest  prayers, 
That  he  devotes  not  with  a  zeal  like  theirs; 
'Tis  consecration  of  his  heart,  soul,  time; 
And  every  thought  that  wanders  is  a  crime. 
In  sighs  he  worships  his  supremely  fair. 
And  weeps  a  sad  libation  in  despair; 
xVdores  a  creature,  and,  devout  in  vain, 
AVins  in  return  an  answer  of  disdain. 
As  woodbine  weds  the  plants  within  her  reach,         ^ 
Rough  elm,  or  sinooth-grain'd  ash,  or  glossy  beech. 
In  spiral  rings  ascends  the  trunk,  and  lays  "  231 


156  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Her  golden  tassels  on  the  leafy  sprays, 

But  does  a  mischief  while  she  lends  a  grace, 

Straitening  its  growth  by  such  a  strict  embrace; 

So  love,  that  clings  around  the  noblest  minds, 

Forbids  the  advancement  of  the  soul  he  binds ; 

The  suitor's  air  indeed  he  soon  improves, 

And  forms  it  to  the  taste  of  her  he  loves. 

Teaches  his  eyes  a  language,  and  no  less 

Kefines  his  speech  and  fashions  his  address ; 

But  farewell  promises  of  happier  fruits,  241 

Manly  designs,  and  learning's  grave  pursuits ; 

Girt  with  a  chain  he  cannot  wish  to  break, 

His  only  bliss  is  sorrow  for  her  sake ; 

Who  will  may  pant  for  glory  and  excel. 

Her  smile  his  aim,  all  higher  aims  farewell ! 

Thyrsis,  Alexis,  or  whatever  name 

May  least  offend  against  so  pure  a  flame. 

Though  sage  advice  of  friends  the  most  sincere 

Sounds  harshly  in  so  delicate  an  ear. 

And  lovers,  of  all  creatures,  tame  or  wild. 

Can  least  brook  management,  howev^er  mild,  252 

Yet  let  a  poet  (poetry  disarms 

The  fiercest  animals  with  magic  charms) 

Kisk  an  intrusion  on  thy  pensive  mood. 

And  woo  and  win  thee  to  thy  proper  good. 

Pastoral  images  and  still  retreats. 

Umbrageous  walks  and  solitary  seats, 

Sweet  birds  in  concert  with  harmonious  streams. 

Soft  airs,  nocturnal  vigils,  and  day  dreams, 

Are  all  enchantments  in  a  case  like  thine. 

Conspire  against  thy  peace  with  one  design. 

Soothe  thee  to  make  thee  but  a  surer  prey,  263 

And  feed  the  fire  that  wastes  thy  powers  away. 

JJpl — God  has  form'd  thee  with  a  wiser  view, 

Not  to  be  led  in  chains,  but  to  subdue; 

Calls  thee  to  cope  with  enemies,  and  first 

Points  out  a  conflict  with  thyself,  the  worst. 

Woman,  indeed,  a  gift  he  would  bestow 

When  he  design'd  a  Paradise  below. 

The  richest  earthly  boon  his  hands  aff'ord, 

Deserves  to  be  beloved,  but  not  adored. 

Post  away  swiftly  to  more  active  scenes. 

Collect  the  scatter'd  truths  that  study  gleans,  274 


I 


RETIREMENT.  157 

Mix  with  the  worhl,  but  with  its  wiser  part, 
No  longer  give  an  image  all  thine  heart ; 
Its  empire  is  not  hers,  nor  is  it  thine, 
'Tis  God's  just  claim,  prerogative  divine. 

Virtuous  and  faithful  Heberden  !  whose  skill 
Attempts  no  task  it  cannot  well  fulfil, 
Gives  Melancholy  up  to  Nature's  care, 
And  sends  the  patient  into  purer  air. 
Look  where  he  comes! — in  this  embower'd  alcove 
Stand  close  conceaFd,  and  see  a  statue  move :  284 

Lips  busy,  and  eyes  fix'd,  foot  falling  slow, 
Arms  hanging  idly  down,  hands  clasp'd  below, 
Interpret  to  the  marking  eye  distress. 
Such  as  its  symptoms  can  alone  express. 
That  tongue  is  silent  now ; — that  silent  tongue 
Could  argue  once,  could  jest,  or  join  the  song. 
Could  give  advice,  could  censure  or  commend, 
Or  charm  the  sorrows  of  a  drooping  friend. 
Kenounced  alike  its  office  and  its  sport. 
Its  brisker  and  its  graver  strains  fall  short; 
Both  fail  beneath  a  fever's  secret  sway,  295 

And,  like  a  summer  brook,  are  past  away. 
This  is  a  sight  for  Pity  to  peruse. 
Till  she  resemble  faintly  what  she  views, 
Till  Sympathy  contract  a  kindred  pain. 
Pierced  with  the  woes  that  she  laments  in.  vain. 
This,  of  all  maladies  that  man  infest. 
Claims  most  compassion,  and  receives  the  least ; 
Job  felt  it,  when  he  groan'd  beneath  the  rod, 
And  the  barb'd  arrows  of  a  frowning  God ; 
And  such  emollients  as  his  friends  could  spare, 
Friends  such  as  his  for  modern  Jobs  prepare.  306 

Blest,  rather  curst,  with  hearts  that  never  feel, 
Kept  snug  in  caskets  of  close-haminer'd  steel. 
With  mouths  made  only  to  grin  wide  and  eat, 
And  minds  that  deem  derided  pain  a  treat; 
With  limbs  of  British  oak,  and  nerves  of  wire, 
And  wit  that  puppet-prompters  might  inspire, 
Their  sovereign  nostrum  is  a. clumsy  joke 
On  pangs  enforced  with  God's  severest  stroke. 
But  with  a  soul  that  ever  felt  the  sting 
Of  sorrow,  sorrow  is  a  sacred  thing; 
Not  to  molest,  or  irritate,  or  raise  »317 

U 


158  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  langli  at  his  expense,  is  slender  praise; 

He  that  has  not  usurp'd  the  name  of  man 

Does  all,  and  deems  too  litlle,  all  he  can. 

To  assuage  the  throbbings  of  the  fester'd  part, 

And  stanch  the  bleedings  of  a  broken  heart. 

'Tis  not,  as  heads  that  never  ache  suppose, 

Forgery  of  fancy,  and  a  dream  of  Avoes ; 

Man  is  a  harp,  whose  chords  elude  the  sight, 

Each  yielding  harmony,  disposed  aright; 

The  screws  reversed  (a  task  which,  if  he  please,  827 

God  in  a  moment  executes  with  ease). 

Ten  thousand  thousand  strings  at  once  go  loose, 

Lost,  till  he  tune  them,  all  their  power  and  use. 

Then  neither  heathy  wilds,  nor  scenes  as  fair 

As  ever  recompensed  the  peasant's  care, 

Nor  soft  declivities  with  tufted  hills, 

Nor  view  of  waters  turning  busy  mills. 

Parks  in  which  Art  preceptress  Nature  weds. 

Nor  gardens  interspersed  with  flowery  beds. 

Nor  gales  that  catch  the  scent  of  blooming  groves, 

And  waft  it  to  the  mourner  as  he  roves,  338 

Can  call  up  life  into  his  faded  eye. 

That  passes  all  he  sees  unheeded  by : 

No  wounds  like  those  a  wounded  spirit  feels. 

No  cure  for  such,  till  God  who  makes  them,  heals. 

And  thou,  sad  sufferer  under  nameless  ill, 

That  yields  not  to  the  touch  of  human  skill. 

Improve  the  kind  occasion,  understand 

A  Father's  frown,  and  kiss  his  chastening  hand : 

To  thee  the  dayspring  and  the  blaze  of  noon, 

The  purple  Evening  and  resplendent  moon,  "^ 

The  stars  that,  sprinkled  o'er  the  vault  of  night,  349 

Seem  drops  descending  in  a  shower  of  light. 

Shine  not,  or  undesired  and  hated  shine. 

Seen  through  the  medium  of  a  cloud  like  thine: 

Yet  seek  Him,  in  his  favor  life  is  found. 

All  bliss  beside,  a  shadow  or  a  sound : 

Then  heaven,  eclipsed  so  long,  and  this  dull  earth, 

Shall  seem  to  start  into  a  second  birth ; 

Nature,  assuming  a  more  lovely  foce. 

Borrowing  a  beauty  from  the  works  of  grace. 

Shall  be  despised  and  overlook'd  no  more. 

Shall  fill  thee  with  delights  unfelt  before,  360 


^-y^  or  IBM    ^< 

[UII7BESIT?] 


TIREMENT.  \--\i 


ill  I  ^ 'Mr  I   ..  /  I  iiiiil:>  .-...> 

And  bid  her  moui 
The' sound  shall  ri 
And  thou  enjoy  a 
Ye  grovi-  f'iiii' 
Sick  of 
My  P.v 
Bei 
K 

ilOW'6. 

ted  days, 

\\iicii  lu>}ii4i  iiijiiu^cnL'v  \~. ;is  iili  my  pnsi 
Hour  after  hour  delightfully  allot 
To  studies  then  fainiliar,  since  forgot, 
And  cultivate  a  taste  t/)r  ancient  song, 
Catching  its  ardor  as  1  mused  along; 
Nor  seldom,  as  propitious  Heaven  mi:.- 
What  once  I  valued  and  could  boast,  a  ni- 
Were  witnesses  how  cordially  I  pressM 
His  undissemhlivw.-  vimio  in  n.v  l.v.-,.i  • 
Eeceive  me  • 


To  ihu  lua  iiiiven  ui  m 

The  Avn-lr  of  vrhnt  I  v' 


\\  c  UiCcL  ill  i;i.-r.t  li. 
His  wish  and  min 

'Tis  done — he  stei)s  lutv)  rhe  \\..icnuK 
Lolls  at  his  ease  behind  four  handsoin 
Tliat  whirl  away  from  busir..:  ' 

The  disencumber^  x\tlas  oi 
Ask  not  the  boy,  who,  wIku  .,.-     ..v. 
First  shakes  the  ghttering  drops  from 
FnPr.l<l^  Ills  flock,  then  under  l.-.n!:  ..-• 
ng  cherry-stones  o 
:  is  Freedom? — he  ^ 
To  <:irv(^  his  rustic  name  u; 
To  ?r..,:\   t!:i:  inr-lo,  or  with  i, 

minnow  iVum  the  hi  •• 
OS  in  Ills  sim])]e  view, 


160  COWPEr's    rOETlCAL    WORKS. 

Eis  flock  tlie  clilef  concern  lie  ever  knew : 
She  shines  but  httle  in  Iiis  lieedless  eyes, 
The  good  we  never  miss  we  rarely  prize : 
But  ask  the  noble  drudge  in  state  affairs, 
Escaped  from  office  and  its  constant  cares, 
"What  charms  he  sees  in  Freedom's  smile  express'd, 
In  freedom  lost  so  long,  now  repossessVl ; 
The  tongue  whose  strains  w^ere  cogent  as  commands, 
Kevered  at  home,  and  felt  in  foreign  lands. 
Shall  own  itself  a  stammerer  in  that  cause,  413 

Or  plead  its  silence  as  its  best  applause. 
He  knows  indeed  that,  whether  dress'd  or  rude, 
Wild  without  art,  or  artfully  subdued, 
E'ature  in  every  form  inspires  delight,'  - 
But  never  markM  her  with  so  just  a  sight. 
Her  hedgerow  shrubs,  a  variegated  store. 
With  woodbine  and  wild  roses  mantled  o'er. 
Green  balks  and  furrowed  lands,  the  stream  that  spreads 
Its  cooling  vapor  o'er  tlie  dewy  meads. 
Downs  that  almost  escape  the  inquiring  eye, 
That  melt  and  fade  into  the  distant  sky;  424 

Beauties  he  lately  slighted  as  he  pass'd. 
Seem  all  created  since  he  travelled  last. 
Master  of  all  the  enjoyments  he  designed, 
No  rough  annoyance  rankling  in  his  mind, 
"What  early  philosophic  hours  he  keeps. 
How  regular  his  meals,  how  sound  he  sleeps! 
Not  sounder  he  that  on  the  mainmast-head, 
"While  morning  kindles  with  a  windy  red, - 
Begins  a  long  look-out  for  distant  land. 
Nor  quits  till  evening  watch  his  giddy  stand. 
Then  swift  descending  with  a  seaman's  haste,  435 

Slips  to  his  hammock,  and  forgets  the  blast. 
He  chooses  company,  but  not  the  squire's, 
"Whose  wit  is  rudeness,  whose  good  breeding  tires ; 
Nor  yet  the  parson's,  who  would  gladly  come, 
_  Obsequious  when  abroad,  though  proud  at  home; 
Nor  can  he  much  affect  the  neighboring  peer, 
Whose  toe  of  emulation  treads  too  near; 
But  wisely  seeks  a  more  convenient  friend, 
With  whom,  dismissing  forms,  he  may  unbend, — 
A  man  whom  marks  of  condescending  grace 
Teach,  while  they  flatter  him,  his  proper  place, —      446 


RETIREMENT.  IGl 

Who  comes  when  calFd,  and  at  a  Avord  withdraws, 

Speaks  with  reserve,  and  hstens  with  applause ; 

Some  plain  mechanic,  who  without  pretence 

To  birth  or  wit,  nor  gives  nor  takes  oflfence; 

On  Avhom  he  rests,  well  pleased,  Iiis  weary  powers, 

And  talks  and  laughs  away  his  vacant  hours. 

The  tide  of  life,  swift  always  in  its  course, 

May  run  in  cities  with  a  brisker  force, 

But  nowhere  with  a  current  so  serene, 

Or  half  so  clear,  as  in  the  rural  scene.  456 

Yet  how  fallacious  is  all  earthly  bliss, 

"What  obvious  truths  the  wisest  heads  may  miss! 

Some  pleasures  live  a  month,  and  some  a  year. 

But  short  the  date  of  all  we  gather  here ; 

Nor  happiness  is  felt,  except  the  true. 

That  does  not  charm  the  more  for  being  new. 

This  observation,  as  it  chanced,  not  made. 

Or,  if  the  thought  occurred,  not  duly  weighed, 

He  sighs — for  after  all,  by  slow  degrees. 

The  spot  he  loved  has  lost  the  power  to  please; 

To  cross  his  ambling  pony  day  by  day,  467 

Seems,  at  the  best,  but  dreaming  life  away; 

The  prospect,  such  as  might  enchant  despair, 

He  views  it  not,  or  sees  no  beauty  there ; 

With  aching  heart  and  discontented  looks. 

Returns  at  noon  to  billiards  or  to  books ; 

But  feels,  while  grasping  at  liis  faded  joys, 

A  secret  thirst  of  his  renounced  employs. 

He  chides  the  tardiness  of  every  post. 

Pants  to  be  told  of  battles  won  or  lost. 

Blames  his  own  indolence,  observes,  though  late, 

'Tis  criminal  to  leave  a  sinking  state,  4T8 

Flies  to  the  levee,  and,  received  with  grace. 

Kneels,  kisses  hands,  and  shines  again  in  place. 

Suburban  villas,  highway-side  retreats. 
That  dre^d  the  encroachment  of  our  growing  streets, 
Tight  boxes,  neatly  sash'd,  and  in  a  blaze 
With  all  a  July  sun's  collected  rays, 
Delight  the  citizen,  who,  gasping  there. 
Breathes  clouds  of  dust,  and  calls  it  country  air. 
O  sweet  retirement,  who  would  balk  the  thought. 
That  could  a^ord  retirement,  or  could  not? 
'Tis  such  an  easy  walk,  so  smooth  and  straight, —       489 


162  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  second  milestone  fronts  the  garden  gate; 

A  step  if  fair,  and,  if  a  shower  approach, 

You  lind  safe  shelter  in  the  next  stage-coach. 

There,  prison'd  in  a  parlor  snug  and  small, 

Like  bottled  wasps  upon  a  southern  wall. 

The  man  of  business  and  his  friends  compress\l, 

Forget  their  labors  and  yet  tind  no  rest; 

But  still  'tis  rural — trees  are  to  be  seen 

From  every  window,  and  the  fields  are  green ; 

Ducks  paddle  in  tlie  pond  before  tlie  door,  499 

And  Avliat  could  a  remoter  scene  show  more?* 

A  sense  of  elegance  we  rarely  find 

The  portion  of  a  mean  or  vulgar  mind. 

And  ignorance  of  better  things  makes  man, 

AVho  cannot  much,  rejoice  in  what  lie  can, 

And  he  that  deems  Ins  leisure  well  bestowed 

In  contemplation  of  a  turnpike  road. 

Is  occupied  as  well,  employs  his  hours 

As  wisely,  and  as  much  improves  his  powers, 

As  he  that  slumbers  in  pavilions  graced 

"With  all  the  charms  of  an  accomi)lish'd  taste.  510 

Yet  hence,  alas!  insolvencies,  and  hence 

The  unpitied  victim  of  ill-judged  expense, 

From  all  his  wearisome  engagements  freed. 

Shakes  hands  with  business,  and  retires  indeed. 

Your  prudent  grandmammas,  ye  modern  belles. 
Content  with  Bristol,  Bath,  and  Tunbridge  Wells, 
When  health  required  it,  would  consent  to  roam, 
Else  more  attached  to  pleasures  founfl  at  home ; 
But  now  alike,  gay  widow,  virgin,  wife, 
Ingenious  to  diversify  dull  life. 
In  coaches,  chaises,  caravans,  and  hoys,  521 

Fly  to  the  coast  for  daily,  nightly  joys, 
And  all,  impatient  of  dry  land,  agree 
"With  one  consent  to  rush  into  the  sea. —  , 

Ocean  exhibits,  fathomless  and  broad. 
Much  of  the  power  and  majesty  of  God. 
He  swathes  about  the  swelling  of  the  deep. 
That  shines  and  rests,  as  infants  smile  and  sleep 
Vast  as  it  is,  it  answers  as  it  flows 
The  breathings  of  the  lightest  air  that  blows ; 
Curhng  and  whitening  over  all  the  waste. 
The  rising  waves  obey  the  increasing  blast,  532 


IlETIREMENT.  163 

Abrupt  and  horrid  as  the  tempest  roars, 

Thunder  and  flash  upon  the  steadfast  shores; 

Till  lie  that  rides  the  whirlwind  checks  the  rein, 

Then  all  the  w^orld  of  w^aters  sleeps  again. — 

Nereids  or  Dryads,  as  the  fashion  leads, 

Now  in  the  floods,  now  panting  in  the  meads. 

Votaries  of  Pleasure  still,  where'er  she  dwells, 

Near  barren  rocks,  in  palaces,  or  cells. 

Oh,  grant  a  poet  leave  to  recommend 

(A  poet  fond  of  nature,  and  your  friend)  542 

Her  slighted  works  to  your  admiring  view; 

Her  works  must  needs  excel,  who  fashioned  you. 

"Would  ye,  when  rambling  in  your  morning  ride, 

"With  some  unmeaning  coxcomb  at  your  side. 

Condemn  the  prattler  for  his  idle  pains, 

To  waste  unheard  the  music  of  his  strains. 

And,  deaf  to  all  the  impertinence  of  tongue. 

That,  while  it  courts,  aflronts  and  does  you  wrong, 

Mark  well  the  finishM  plan  without  a  fault, 

The  seas  globose  and  huge,  the  overarching  vault. 

Earth's  millions  daily  fed,  a  w^orld  employed  553 

In  gathering  plenty  yet  to  be  enjoy'd. 

Till  gratitude  grew  vocal  in  the  praise 

Of  God,  beneficent  in  all  his  ways ; — 

Graced  with  such  wisdom,  how  w^ould  beauty  shine ! 

Ye  w^ant  but  that  to  seem  indeed  divine. 

Anticipated  rents,  and  bills  unpaid. 
Force  many  a  shining  youth  into  the  shade. 
Not  to  redeem  his  time,  but  his  estate. 
And  play  the  fool,  but  at  a  cheaper  rate. 
There  hid  in  loathed  obscurity,  removed 
From  pleasures  left,  but  never  more  beloved,  564 

He  just  endures,  and  with  a  sickly  spleen 
Sighs  o'er  the  beauties  of  the  charming  scene. 
Nature  indeed  looks  prettily  in  rhyme; 
Streams  tinkle  sweetly  in  poetic  chime: 
The  warblings  of  the  blackbird,  clear  and  strong, 
Are  musical  enough  in  Thomson's  song; 
And  Cobham's  groves,  and  Windsor's  green  retreats, 
When  Pope  describes  them,  have  a  thousand  sweets ; 
He  likes  the  country,  but  in  truth  must  own, 
Most  likes  it,  when  he  studies  it  in  towm. 

Poor  Jack — no  naatter  who — for  when  I  blame       575 


1G4  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

I  pity,  and  must  therefore  sink  tlie  name, — 

Lived  in  liis  saddle,  loved  the  cliase,  the  course, 

And  always,  ere  he  mounted,  kisyM  his  horse. 

The  estate  his  sires  had  o\vn\l  in  ancient  years, 

Was  quickly  distanced,  match VI  against  a  peer's. 

Jack  vanish 'd,  was  regretted,  and  forgot ; 

'Tis  wild  good-nature's  never-failing  lot. 

At  length,  when  all  had  long  supposed  him  dead, 

By  cold  submersion,  razor,  rope,  or  lead, 

My  lord,  alighting  at  his  usual  place,  585 

The  Crown,  took  notice  of  an  ostler's  face. 

Jack  knew  his  friend,  but  hoped  in  that  disguise 

He  might  escape  the  most  observing  eyes, 

And  whistling,  as  if  unconcerned  and  gay, 

Curried  his  nag,  and  look'd  another  way. 

Convinced  at  last,  upon  a  nearer  view, 

'Twas  he,  the  same,  tlie  very  Jack  he  knew% 

O'erwhelmM  at  once  with  wonder,  grief,  and  joy. 

He  press'd  him  much  to  quit  his  base  employ, — 

His  countenance,  his  purse,  his  heart,  his  hand. 

Influence,  and  power,  Avere  all  at  his  command:  596 

Peers  are  not  always  generous  as  well-bred ; 

But  Granby  was,  meant  truly  what  he  said: 

Jack  bow'd,  and  was  obliged — confessed  'twas  strange 

That  so  retired  he  should  not  wish  a  change. 

But  knew  no  medium  between  guzzling  beer. 

And  his  old  stint — three  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

Thus  some  retire  to  nourish  hopeless  woe; 
Some  seeking  happiness  not  found  below ; 
Some  to  comply  with  humor,  and  a  mind 
To  social  scenes  by  nature  disinclined ; 
Some  sway'd  by  fashion,  some  by  deep  disgust;  607 

Some  self-impoverish'd,  and  because  they  must; 
But  few  that  court  Retirement  are  aware 
Of  half  the  toils  they  must  encounter  there. 

Lucrative  offices  are  seldom  lost 
For  want  of  powers  proportioned  to  the  post : 
Give  even  a  dunce  the  employment  he  desires, 
And  he  soon  finds  the  talents  it  requires; 
A  business  with  an  income  at  its  heels 
Furnishes  always,  oil  for  its  own  wheels. 
But  in  his  arduous  enterprise  to  close 
His  active  years  with  indolent  repose,  618 


RETIREMENT.  16^ 

He  finds  the  labors  of  that  state  exceed 

His  utmost  facuhies,  severe  indeed. 

'Tis  easy  to  resign  a  toilsome  place, 

But  not  to  manage  leisure  with  a  grace; 

Absence  of  occupation  is  not  rest, 

A  mind  quite  vacant  is  a  mind  distressVl. 

The  veteran  steed,  excused  his  task  at  length, 

In  kind  compassion  of  his  failing  strength, 

And.  turn'd  into  the  park  or  mead  to  graze, 

Exempt  from  future  service  all  his  days,  628 

There  feels  a  pleasure  perfect  in  its  kind. 

Ranges  at  liberty,  and  snufts  the  wind  : 

But  when  his  lord  would  quit  the  busy  road. 

To  taste  a  joy  like  that  he  has  bestowal, 

He  proves,  less  happy  than  his  favor'd  brute, 

A  life  of  ease  a  dithcult  pursuit. 

Thought,  to  the  man  that  never  thinks,  may  seem 

As  natural  as  when  asleep  to  dream ; 

But  reveries  (for  human  minds  will  act). 

Specious  in  show,  impossible  in  fact. 

Those  flimsy  webs  that  break  as  soon  as  wrought,       639 

Attain  not  to  the  dignity  of  thought : 

Nor  yet  the  swarms  that  occupy  the  brain, 

AVhere  dreams  of  dress,  intrigue,  and  pleasure  reign; 

Nor  such  as  useless  conversation  breeds, 

Or  lust  engenders,  and  indulgence  feeds. 

"Whence,  and  what  are  we?  to  what  end  ordain'd? 

"What  means  the  drama  by  the  world  sustained  ? 

Business  or  vain  amusement,  care  or  mirth, 

Divide  the  frail  inhabitants  of  earth. 

Is  duty  a  mere  sport,  or  an  employ? 

Life  an  intrusted  talent,  or  a  toy?  650 

Is  there,  as  reason,  conscience,  Scripture  say, 

Cause  to  provide  for  a  great  future  day. 

When,  earth's  assigned  duration  at  an  end, 

Man  shall  be  summoned,  and  the  dead  attend  ? 

The  trumpet — will  it  sound?  the  curtain  rise? 

And  show  the  august  tribunal  of  the  skies, 

Where  no  prevarication  shall  avail. 

Where  eloquence  and  artifice  shall  fail, 

The  pride  of  arrogant  distinctions  fall. 

And  conscience  and  our  conduct  judge  us  all? 

Pardon  me,  ye  that  give  the  midnight  oil  661 


166  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  learned  cares  or  philosophic  toil, 

Though  I  revere  your  humble  names, 

Your  useful  labors,  and  important  aims. 

And  hold  the  world  indebted  to  your  aid, 

EnricliM  with  the  discoveries  ye  have  made ; 

Yet  let  me  stand  excused,  if  I  esteem 

A  mind  employVl  on  so  sublime  a  theme, 

Pushing  her  bold  inquiry  to  the  date 

And  outline  of  the  present  transient  state, 

And,  after  poising  her  adventurous  wings,  671 

Settling  at  last  upon  eternal  things, 

Far  more  intelligent,  and  better  taught 

The  strenuous  use  of  profitable  thought. 

Than  ye,  when  happiest,  and  enlightened  most, 

And  highest  in  renown,  can  justly  boast. 

A  mind  unnerved,  or  indisposed  to  bear 
The  weiglit  of  subjects  worthiest  of  her  care, 
AVliatever  hopes  a  change  of  scene  inspires. 
Must  change  her  nature,  or  in  vain  retires. 
An  idler  is  a  watch  that  wants  both  hands, 
As  useless  if  it  goes  as  when  it  stands.  682 

Books,  therefore, — not  the  scandal  of  the  shelves, 
In  which  lewd  sensualists  print  out  themselves; 
IKor  those  in  wliich  the  stage  gives  vicl-  a  blow, 
With  what  success,  let  modern  manners  show ; 
Nor  his  who,  for  the  bane  of  thousands  born. 
Built*  God  a  church,  and  laugh \1  his  Word  to  scorn, 
Slvilful  alike  to  seem  devout  and  just. 
And  stab  religion  with  a  sly  side-thrust; 
Nor  those  of  learn'd  philologists,  who  chase 
A  panting  syllable  through  time  and  space, 
Start  it  at  home,  and  hunt  it  in  the  dark  693 

To  Gaul,  to  Greece,  and  into  Noah's  ark ; 
But  such  as  Learning,  without  folse  pretence. 
The  friend  of  Truth,  the  associate  of  sound  Sense, 
And  sucli  as,  in  the  zeal  of  good  design, 
Strong  judgment  laboring  in  the  Scripture  mine, 
All  such  as  manly  and  great  souls  produre, 
Wortliy  to  live,  and  of  eternal  use; 
Behold  in  these  what  leisure  liours  demand, 
Amusement  and  true  knowledge  hand  in  hand. 
Luxury  gives  the  mind  a  chddish  cast, 

1  Voltaire,  with  the  inscriiition,  Deo  erexit  Voltaire. 


RETIREMENT. 


167 


And,  wliile  she  polishes,  perverts  the  taste ; 

Habits  of  close  attention,  thinking  heads, 

Becoiiie  more  rare  as  dissipation  spreads. 

Till  aiithoi^s  hear  at  length  one  general  cry, 

Tickle  and  entertain  us,  or  we  die! 

The  loud  demand,  from  year  to  year  the  same, 

Beggars  Invention,  and  makes  Fancy  lame ; 

Till  Farce  itself,  most  mournfully  jejune, 

Calls  for  the  kind  assistance  of  a  tune  ; 

And  novels  (witness  every  month's  Revieic)  713 

Belie  their  name,  and  offer  nothing  new. 

Tlie  mind,  relaxing  into  needful  sport, 

Sliould  turn  to  writers  of  an  abler  sort, 

AVhose  wit  well  managed,  and  whose  classic  style, 

Give  Truth  a  lustre,  and  make  Wisdom  smile. 

Friends  (for  I  cannot  stint,  as  some  have  done, 

Too  rigid  in  my  view,  that  name  to  one; 

Though  one,  I  grant  it,  in  the  generous  breast 

AVill  stand  advanced  a  step  above  the  rest; 

Flowers  by  that  name  i)romiscuously  we  call, 

But  one,  tlie  rose,  the  regent  of  them  all) —  724 

Friends,  not  adopted  with  a  sclioolboy's  haste, 

But  chosen  with  a  nice  discerning  taste, 

AVell  born,  well  disci  [dined,  who,  [)lace(l  apart 

From  vulgar  minds,  have  honor  much  at  heart, 

And  (though  the  Avorld  nuiy  think  the  ingredients  odd) 

The  love  of  virtue,  and  the  fear  of  God ! 

Such  friends  prevent  what  else  would  soon  succeed, 

A  temper  rustic  as  the  life  we  lead. 

And  keep  the  polish  of  the  manners  clean. 

As  theirs  who  bustle  in  the  busiest  scene, 

For  solitude,  however  some  may  rave,  735 

Seeming  a  sanctuary,  proves  a  grave, 

A  sepulchre,  in  which  the  living  lie, 

Where  all  good  (pialities  grow  sick  and  die. 

I  praise  the  Frenchman,*  his  remark  was  shrewd — 

How  sweet,  how  passing  sweet,  is  solitude! 

But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat, 

Whom  I  may  wliisper — Solitude  is  sweet. 

Yet  neitlier  these  delights,  nor  aught  beside. 

That  appetite  can  ask,  or  wealth  provide, 

Can  save  us  always  from  a  tedious  day, 

1  BruyOre. 


168  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  shine  the  duhiess  of  still  life  away 

IJ)ivine  communion,  carefully  enjoy'd, 

Or  sought  Avith  energy,  must  fill  the  void. 

O  sacred  art !  to  which  alone  life  owes 

Its  happiest  seasons,  and  a  peaceful  close ; 

Scorn'd  in  a  world,  indebted  to  that  scorn 

For  evils  daily  felt  and  hardly  borne, 

Not  knowing  thee,  we  reap,  with  bleeding  hands, 

Flowers  of  rank  odor  upon  thorny  lands. 

And,  while  Experience  cautions  us  in  vain,  755 

Grasp  seeming  happiness,  and  find  it  pain. 

Despondence,  self-deserted  in  her  grief, 

Lost  by  abandoning  her  own  relief; 

Murmuring  and  ungrateful  Discontent, 

That  scorns  afflictions  mercifully  meant ; 

Those  humors,  tart  as  wines  upon  the  fret. 

Which  idleness  and  weariness  beget, — 

These,  and  a  thousand  plagues  that  haunt  the  breast. 

Fond  of  the  phantom  of  an  earthly  rest. 

Divine  communion  chases,  as  the  day 

Drives  to  their  dens  the  obedient  beasts  of  prey.         766 

See  Judah's  promised  king,  bereft  of  all. 

Driven  out  an  exile  from  the  face  of  Saul, 

To  distant  caves  the  lonely  wanderer  flies. 

To  seek  that  peace  a  tyrant's  frown  denies. 

Hear  the  sweet  accents  of  his  tuneful  voice  ; 

Hear  him  o'erwhelm'd  with  sorrow,  yet  rejoice ; 

No  womanish  or  wailing  grief  has  part, 

No,  not  a  moment,  in  his  royal  heart; 

'Tis  manly  music,  such  as  martyrs  make, 

Suffering  with  gladness  for  a  Saviour's  sake ; 

His  soul  exults,  hope  animates  his  lays,  777 

The  sense  of  mercy  kindles  into  praise. 

And  wilds,  familiar  with  the  lion's  roar, 

Eing  with  ecstatic  sounds  unheard  before : 

'Tis  love  like  his  that  can  alone  defeat 

The  foes  of  man,  or  make  a  desert  sweet. 

Eehgion  does  not  censure  or  exclude 

Unnumber'd  pleasures  harmlessly  pursued. 

To  study  culture,  and  with  artful  toil 

To  meliorate  and  tame  the  stubborn  soil ; 

To  give  dissimilar  yet  fruitful  lands 

The  grain,  or  herb,  or  plant  that  each  demands ;         788 


RprriUEMENT. 


169 


To  clierisli  virtue  in  an  humble  state, 

And  share  the  joys  3'our  bounty  may  create; 

To  mark  the  matchless  workings  of  the  power 

That  shuts  within  its  seed  the  future  flower, 

Bid  these  in  elegance  of  form  excel, 

In  color  these,  and  those  delight  the  smell, 

Sends  Nature  forth  the  daughter  of  the  skies, 

To  dance  on  earth,  and  charm  all  human  eyes; 

To  teach  the  canvas  innocent  deceit, 

Or  lay  the  landscape  on  the  snowy  sheet; —  798 

These,  these  are  arts  pursued  without  a  crime, 

That  leave  no  stain  upon  the  wing  of  Time. 

Me  poetry  j^or,  ratlier,  notes  that  aim 
Feebly  and  vainly  at  poetic  fame) 
Employs,  shut  out  from  more  important  views, 
Fast  by  the  banks  of  the  slow-winding  Ouse: 
Content  if,  thus  sequestered,  I  may  raise 
A  monitor's  though  not  a  poet's  praise, 
And,  while  I  teach  an  art  too  little  known. 
To  close  life  wisely,  may  not  waste  my  own. 
15 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  history  of  the  following  production  is  briefly  this : 
A  lady,  fond  of  blank  verse,  demanded  a  poem  of  that 
kind  from  the  Author,  and  gave  him  the  Sofa  for  a  sub- 
ject. He  obeyed ;  and,  having  much  leisure,  connected 
another  subject  with  it;  and,  pursuing  the  train  of 
thought  to  which  his  situation  and  turn  of  mind  led 
him,  brought  forth  at  length,  instead  of  the  trifle  which 
he  at  first  intended,  a  serious  aff'air — a  volume. 

In  the  Poem  on  the  subject  of  Education,  he  would 
be  very  sorry  to  stand  suspected  of  having  aimed  his 
censure  at  any  particular  school.  His  objections  are 
such  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to  schools  in  general. 
If  there  were  not,  as  for  the  most  part  there  is,  wilful 
neglect  in  those  wdio  manage  them,  and  an  omission 
even  of  such  discipline  as  they  are  susceptible  of,  the 
objects  are  yet  too  numerous  for  minute  attention  ;  and 
the  aching  hearts  of  ten  thousand  parents,  mourning 
mider  the  bitterest  of  all  disappointments,  attest  the 
truth  of  the  allegation.  His  quarrel  therefore  is  with 
the  mischief  at  large,  and  not  with  any  particular  in- 
stance of  it. 


THE  TASK. 


BOOK  I. -THE  SOFA. 


THE  AEGUMENT. 

flistoncal  deduction  of  seats,  from  the  stool  to  the  Sofa,  l—A  schoolboy's  ramble, 
109— A  walk  in  the  comitry,  140— The  scene  described,  159— Rural  sounds  as  well 
as  sights  delightful,  ISl— Another  walk,  210— Mistake  concerning  the  charms  of 
solitude  corrected,  233— Colonnades  commended,  252 — Alcove,  and  the  view  from 
it,  278— The  wilderness,  350— The  grove,  854— The  thresher,  356— The  necessity 
and  the  benefits  of  exercise,  367— The  works  of  nature  superior  to,  and  in  some  in- 
stances inimitable  by,  art,  409— The  wearisoraeness  of  what  is  commonly  called  a 
life  of  pleasure,  462— Change  of  scene  sometimes  expedient,  506— A  common 
described,  and  the  character  of  Crazy  Kate  introduced,  526— Gipsies,  557 — The 
blessings  of  a  civilized  life,  592— The  state  most  favorable  to  virtue,  600— The  South 
Sea  Islanders  compassionated,  but  chiefly  Omai,  620— His  present*  state  of  mind 
supposed,  651— Civilized  life  friendly  to  virtue,  but  not  great  cities,  678— Great  * 
cities,  and  London  in  particular,  allowed  their  due  praise,  but  censured,  693— Fete 
champetre,  739— The  book  concludes  with  a  reflection  on  the  fatal  efifects  of  dissi- 
pation and  effeminacjLjipon  our  public  tSeiisures,  749.    i~^  ^  ~~ 

I  sixa  the  Sofa.     T  who  lately  sang 

Truth,  Hope,  and  Charity,  and  tonchVl  with  awe 

The  solemn  chords,  and  with  a  trembling  hand, 

Escaped  Avith  pain  from  tliat  adventurous  flight, 

Now  seek  rei)Ose  upon  an  humbler  theme; 

Tlte  theme  thouf,di  humble,  yet  august  and  proud 

The  occasion — foi**'^^.  Fair  commands  tlie  song. 

Tiii;^e  w\as,  when  clothing,  sumptuous  or  for  nse,  j 
S*av(ytheir  own  painted  skins,  our  sires  had  none. 
As  \|et  black  breeclies  were  not ;  satin  smooth, 
Or  velvet  soft,  or  plush  with  shaggy  pile: 
Tlie  hardy  chief  u[)on  tlie  rugged  rock 
Washed  by  the  sea,  or  on  the  gravelly  bank 
Thrown  up  by  wintry  torrents  roaring  loud,  14 


172  cowi>er\s  poetical  works. 

Fearless  of  wrong,  reposed  ms  weary  strength. 
Those  barbarous  ages  past,  succeeded  next 
•  Tlie  birthday  of  Invention  ;  weak  at  first. 
Dull  in  design,  and  chunsy  to  perform, 
"oint-stools  were  tlien  created;  on  three  legs 
Upborne  they  stood — tliree  legs  upholding  iirm 
A  niassy  slab,  in  fashion  square  or  round. 
On  such  a  stool  immortal  AltV^^d  sat, 
And  swayVl  the  sceptre  of  Jiis  mfant  realms. 
And  such  in  ancient  halls  and  mansions  drear  24 

May  still  be  seen  ;  but  perforated  sore, 
And  drill'd  in  holes,  the  solid  oak  is^ found. 
By  Avorms  voracious  eating  througlTand  through. 

At  length  a  generation  more  refined 
Im[>roved  the  simple  ])lan;  made  three  legs  four. 
Gave  tliem  a  twisted  form  vermicular. 
And  o^er  the  seat,  Avith  plenteous  wadding  stuft:''d. 
Induced  a  splendid  cover,  green  and  blue,  ■» 

Yellow  and  red,  of  tapestry  richly  wrought 
And  woven  close,  or  needlework  sublime. 
There  miglit  ye  seethe  peony  spread  wide,  35 

The  full-blown  rose,  the  shepherd  and  his  lass, 
Lai)d()g  and  lambkin  with  black  staring  eyes. 
And  parrots  with  twin  cherries  in  tlieir  beak. 

Now  came  the  cane  from  India,  smooth  and  bright 
With  Nature's  yarnisli;  sever 'd  into  stripes 
That  interlaced  each  other ;  these  supplied 
Of  texture  firm  a  lattice-work,  that  braced 
The  new  machine,  and  it  became  a  chair. 
But  restless "Avas  the  chair;  the  back  erect        S^;"' 
Distressed  the  weary  loins,  that  felt  no  ease;      ,  ' 
The  slippery  seat  betrayM  the  sliding  part, 
That  press'd  it,  and  the  feet  hung  dangling tlown\ 
Anxious  in  vain  to  find  the  distant  fioor.  ^ 
rThese  for  the  rich  :  the  rest,  whom  Fat^  had  placed 
In  modest  mediocrity,  content  / 

With  base  materials,  sat  on  well  tanilM-4iides,--f^l)^fi 
Obdurate  and  unyielding,  glassy  smooith,  '  '        ' 

With  here  and  there  a  tuft  of  crimson  yarn. 
Or  scarlet  crewel,  in  tlie  cushion  fix\l. 
If  cushion  might  be  callVl  wliat  harder  seeni'd 
Than  the  firm  oak  of  which  the  frame  was  form^V 
No  want  of  timber  then  was  felt  or  fearVl 


THE    TASK.  173 

In  Albion's  liappy  isle.     Tlic  lumber  stood 

Ponderous,  and  lixM  by  its  own  liinssy  weight. 
,But  elbows  still  Avere  wanting;  these,  some  say, 

An  alderman  of  Cnp[)legatc  contrived;  • 

And  some  ascribe  the  invention  to  a  priest. 

Burly  and  big,  and  studions  of  his  ease. 
vBut,  rude  at  lirst,  and  not  with  easy  slope 
'Keceding  wide,  they  press'd  against  the  ribs, 

And  bruised  tlie  side;  and  elevated  high, 
♦Taught  the  raised  shoulders  to  invade  the  ears.  07 

Long  time  elapsed  or  e'er  our  rugged  sires 

Comi)lain\l,  though  incommodiously  pent  in, 

And  ill  at  ease  behind.     The  ladies  first 

'Gan  murmur,  as  became  the  softer  sex. 

Ingenious  Fancy,  never  better  pleased 

Than  when  employed  to  acconnnodate  the  foir, 

Heard  the  sweet  moan  Avith  pity,  and  devised 
♦The  soft  settee ;  one  elbow  at  each  end. 

And  in  tlie  nndst  an  elbow  it  received. 

United  yet  divided,  twain  at  once. 

So  sit  two  kings  of  Brentford  on  one  throne;  78 

And  so  two  citizens,  who  take  the  air, 

Close  ])ack'd,  and  smiling,  in  a  chaise  and  one. 

But  relaxation  of  the  languid*  frame, 

By  soft  recumbency  of  outstretch'd  limbs, 

AYas  bliss  reserved  for  ha])pier  days.     So  slow 

The  growth  of  what  is  excellent;  so  hard 

To  attain  perfection  in  this  nether  world. 

Thus  first  Necessity  invented  stools, 
\ Convenience  next  suggested  elbow-chairs, 

iAn<]   T.n^-]]|y  Ibp  nPPrnnp]]>^]|^(]   ^^t?  k    last. 

The  nurse  sleeps  sweetly,  hired  to  watch  the  sick, '  89 
Whom  snoring  she  disturbs.     As  sweetly  he 
"Who  quits  the  coach-box  at  the  midnight  lioiir 
To  sleep  within  the  carriage  more  secure, 
His  legs  depending  at  the  open  door. 
Sweet  sleep  enjoys  the  curate  in  his  desk, 
The  tedious  rector  drawling  o'er  his  head  ; 
And  sweet  the  clerk  below.     But  neither  sleep 
Of  lazy  nurse,  who  snores  the  sick  man  dead, 
Nor  his  who  quits  the  box  at  midnight  hour 
To  slumber  in  tlie  carriage  more  secure, 
Nor  sleep  enjoy'd  by  curate  in  his  desk,  100 


174  cowper's  poetical  works. 

JN'or  yet  the  dozings  of  tlie  clerk,  are  sweet, 
Compared  Avitli  the  repose  tlie  Sofa  yields. 
Oh  may  I  live  exempted  (while  I  live 
'  Guiltless  of  pamper'd  appetite  obscene) 
From  pangs  arthritic  that  infest  the  toe  \ 

Of  libertine.  Excess  !     The  Sofa  suits  y    ^ 

The  gouty  limb,  'tis  true;  but  gouty  limb,  a^'' 

[Though  on  a  Sofa,  may  1  never  feel :  '^^^  V 

f  Fol'  I  have  loved  the  rural  wnlk  lli^-onn-l'  lon^^ 
{){  grassy  swarth.  close  croppM  bv  nibbling^  shec^p,      110 

Ant]   ^K-irf«^(1   tl.ir.y   Avitl.  infprfpvfnrp  firm 

Of  |1u>rny  hono-lLg ;  liave  loved  the  rural  walk 
O'er  hills,  through  valleys,  and  by  river's  brink, 
E'er  since  a  truant  boy  1  pass'd  my  bounds 
To  enjoy  a  ramble  on  the  banks  of  Thames : 
And  still  remember,  nor  without  regret. 
Of  hours  that  sorrow  since  has  much  endear'd, 
How  oft,  my  slice  of  pocket  store  consumed, 
Still  hungering,  penniless,  and  far  from  home, 
I  fed  on  scarlet  hips  and  stony  haws, 
Or  blushing  crabs,  or  berries  that  emboss  121 

The  bramble,  black  as  jet,  or  sloes  austere. 
Hard  fare!  but  such  as  boyish  appetite 
Disdains  not,  nor  the  palate,  nndepraved 
By  culinary  arts,  unsavory  deems. 
No  Sofa  then  awaited  my  return ; 
Nor  Sofa  tlien  I  needed.     Youth  repairs 
His  wasted  spirits  quickly,  by  long  toil 
Incurring  short  fatigue ;  and  though  our  years. 
As  life  declines,  speed  rapidly  away. 
And  not  a  year  but  pilfers,  as  he  goes, 
Some  youthful  grace,  that  age  would  gladly  keep ;      132 
A  tooth  or  auburn  lock,  and  by  degrees 
Their  length  and  color  from  the  locks  they  spare ; 
The  elastic  spring  of  an  unv/earied  foot. 
That  mounts  the  stile  with  ease,  or  leaps  the  fence ; 
That  play  of  lungs,  inhaling  and  again 
Respiring  freely  the  fresh  air,  that  makes 
Swift  pace  or  steep  ascent  no  toil  to  me, 
Trine  have  not  pilfer'd  yet ;  nor  yet  impair'd 
My  relish  of  fair  prospect;  scenes  that  soothed 
Or  charm'd  me  young,  no  longer  young,  I  find 
Still  soothing,  and  of  power  to  charm  me  still. 


THE    TASK.  175 

And  witness,  dear  companion*  of  my  walks, 
Whose  arm  this  twentieth  winter  I  perceive 
Fast  locked  in  mine,  with  pleasure  such  as  love, 
Confirm'd  by  long  experience  of  thy  worth 
And  well-tried  virtues,  could  alone  ins})ire — 

^Witness  a  joy  that  thou  liast  doubled  long.  ^^ 
Thou  know'st  n^y  pr^i>^^  '^^  nntnrA  most  sincere, 
And  that  my  raptures  are  not  conjured  up 
To  serve  occasions  of  poetic  pomp, 

But  genuine,  and  art  partner  of  them  all.    ♦  153 

IIow  oft  upon  yon  eminence  our  pace  • 
Has  slackeird  to  a,  pause,  and  we  have  borne 
The  ruffling  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  blew; 

•  AVhile  Admiration,  feeding  at  the  eye,         * 
And  still  unsated,  dwelt  upon  the  scene.  2 
Thence  with  what  pleasure  Jiave  we  just  discernM 
The  distant  ])hmLdL  slow  movin«r.  and  beside 
IIjs  lahoijng  teau^,  that  swerved  not  from  the  track, 
Tlu^stuydy  §wnin  (1iiiiip|s|iVl  to  a  hoy !  y^ 

Here  Ouse,  slow  winding  through  a  level  plain 
Of  spacious  mea^^s.  ivitli  cattle  sprinkled  oy.  1 G4 

Conducts  the  eye  along  his  sinuous  coarse 
Delighted.     There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bank> 
Stand,  never  overlooked,  our  favorite  elmi^> 
That  screen  the  herUsHitnr^  solitary  liut; 
While  far  beyond,  and  overthwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale, 
The  sloping  hind  recedes  into  the  clouds; 
Displaying  on  its  varied  side  the  grace 
Of  hedgerow  beauties  numberless,  square  tower, 
Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bells 
Just  undulates  upon  the  listening  ear;  175 

Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages  remote. 
Scenes  must  be  beautiful  which,  daily  view'd, 
Please  daily,  and  whose  novelty  survives 
Long  knowledge  and  the  scrutiny  of  years — 
Praise  justly  due  to  those  that  I  describe. y 
Kor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounTIs 

'  "^^lliilM'iLtV'i.!^.'^'  fV^Vi  ^'^nd  restore 
The  tone  of  ianaMiuT Mature.     !^Tightv  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  s(mie  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
1  Mrs.  Unwin. 


176  cowper's  poetical  works. 


^ 


The  dasli  of  Ocean  on  liis  winding  shore, 

And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  lill  the  inind; 

Unnuniber'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 

And  all  their  leaves  fost  flattering,  all  at  once. 

ITor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  ro(^r^ 

Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 

Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 

Through  tho  cleft  rock,  and,  chiming  as  they  fall 

Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 

In  matted  gi-ass,  that  with  a  livelier  green  1 95 

Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course.. 

Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 

But  animated  Nature  sweeter  still. 

To  soothe  and  satisfy  the  human  ear.  • 

Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 

The  livelong  nighty  nor  thes'e  alone,  whose  notes 

Nicp-finger'd  Art  must  emulate  in  vain. 

But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 

In  still-repeated  ch-cles,  screaming  loud, 

The  jay,  the  pie,  and  even  the  boding  owl 

JThat  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me.         20C 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 
Yet,  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  forever  reigns, 
And  only  there,  please  liighly  for  their  sake.    /" 
Peace  to  the  artist,  whose  ingenious  thought 
Devised  the  weather-house,  that  useful  toy ! 
Fearless  of  humid  air  anTTgathering  rains, 
Forth  steps  the  man — an  emblem  of  myself ! 
More  delicate  his  timorous  mate  retires.- 
"When  Winter  soaks  the  fields,  and  female  feet, 
Too  weak  to  struggle  with  tenacious  clay, 
Or  ford  t^ie  rivulets,  are  best  at  home,  217 

Thejask  of  new  discoveries  falls  on  me, 

"At  such" a  season,  and  with  such  a  charge, 
Once  went  I  forth ;  and  found,  till  then  unknown, 
A  cottage,  whither  oft  we  since  repair: 
'Tis  perch'd  ui)on  the  green  hilhto}),  but  close 

.Environed  with  a  ring  of  brandling  elms,       ** 
That  overhang  the  tliatch,  itself  un^ni 
Peeps  at  the  vale  below ;  so  tliick  beset 
With  foliage  of  such  dark  redundant  growth, 
I  caird  the  low-roof  \1  lodge  tlie^^crt^ce/i^'s  nedt. 
And,  hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  renioie 


THE    TASK.  1*77 

From  such  iinpleasing  sounds  as  liaunt  the  ear 

In  village  or  in  town,  the  bay  of  curs 

Incessant,  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels, 

And  infants  clamorous  whether  pleased  or  pain'd — 

Oft  have  I  wish\l  the  peaceful  covert  mine. 

Here,  I  have  said,  at  least  I  should  ])Osses§^ 

The  poet's  treasure,  silence,  and  indulge 

The  dreams  of  fancy,  tranquil  and  secure. 

Vain  thought! — the  dweller  in  that  still  retrea 

Dearly  obtains  the  refuge  it  affords.  238 

Its  elevated  site  forbids  the  wretch 

To  drink  sweet  waters  of  the  crystal  well ; 

He  dips  his  bowl  into  the  weedy  ditch,  ^ 

And,  heavy  laden,  brings  his  beverage  honie, 

Far  fetched  and  little  worth  ;  nor  seldom  waits, 

Dependent  on  the  baker's  punctual  call, 

To  hear  his*cre*aking  panniers  at  the  door, 

Angry  and  sad,  and  his  last  crust  consumed. 

So  farewell  envy  of  the  peasanVs  nest ! 

If  solitude  jnake  scant  the  means  of  life,// 

Society  for  me! — thou  seeming  sweet,  1/  j   j249 

Be  still  a  j)leasing  object  in  my  view; 

My  visit  still,  but  never  mine  abode !  y 

Not  distant  far,  a  length  of  colonnacCel 
Invites  us :  monument  of  ancient  taste,  \ 
Now  scorn'd,  but  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 
Our  fathers  knew  the  value  of  a  screen 
From  sultry  suns ;  and  in  their  shaded  walks 
And  long-protracted  bowers,  enjoy'd  at  noon 
The  gloom  and  coolness  of  declining  day. 
"VVe  bear  our  shades  about  us ;  self-deprived 
Of  other  screen,  the  thin  umbrella  spread,       •'  260 

And  range  an  Indian  waste  without  a  tree. 
Thanks  to  Benevolus;'  he  spares  me  yet 
These  chestnuts  ranged  in  corresponding  lines; 
And  though  himself  so  polish'd,  still  reprieves 
The  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade. 

Descending  now  (but  cautious,  lest  too  fast) 
A  sudden  steep,  upon  a  rustic  bridge 
Wq  l)ass  a  gulf,  irf  which  the  willows  dip 
Their  pendent  boughs,  stooping  as  if  to  drink 
Hence,  ankle-deep  in  moss  and  tiowery  thyme, 

*  John  Courtney  Throckmorton,  Esq.,  of  Weston  Underwood. 


178  cowper's  poetical  works. 

We  mount  again,  and  feel  at  every  step 
Our  foot  bait  sunk  in  liillocks  green  and  soft, 
Baised  by  tlie  mole,  tlie  miner  of  tbe  soil. 
I  He,  not  unlike  tbe  great  ones  of  mankind, 
I  Disfigures  Eartb  ;  and,  plotting  in  tlie  dark, 
iToils  mucli  to  earn  a  monumental  pile, 
Tbat  may  record  tbe  miscliiefs  be  bas  done^^ 
Tbe  sunnnit  gain'd,  bebold  tbe  proud  alcove 
Tbat  crowns  it!  yet  not  all  its j:)ride  secures 
Tbe  grand  retreat  from  injuries  impressed  280 

By  rural  carvers,  wbo  Avitb  knives  deface 
Tbe  panels,  leaving  an  obscure,  rude  name,     * 
In  cbaracters  uncoutb,  and  spelt  amiss. 
So  strong  tbe  zeal  to  immortalize  bimself 
Beats  in  tbe  breast  of  man,  tbat  even  a  few, 
Few  transient  years,  won  from  tbe  abyss  abhorr'd 
Of  blank  oblivion,  seem  a  glorious  prize. 
And  even  to  a  clown.     Now  roves  tbe  eye. 
And,  posted  on  tbis  speculative  beigbt. 
Exults  in  its  command.     Tb e.  s|]^e]yfold  bere    * 

Pours  out  it-^  ^c-c^oy  tonnnf^  oVr  tiq!^,  L^lebe.       "^  291 

At  first,  progressive  as  a  stream,  tbey  seek 
Tbe  mTddie  Ijeid  ;  but,  scattered  by  degrees,     •  ,^ 
Eacli  to  bis  cIToice,  soon  wbiteii_(ill.tjhie^^j^^ 
Tbere,  from  tbe  sun-burnt  bayfield  bomeward  creeps 
Tbe  loaded  wain;  wbile,  ligbten\l  of  its  cbarge, 
Tbe  wain  tbat  meets  it  passes^  swiftly  by — 
Tbe  boorisb  driver  leaning  o'er  bis  teem 
Vociferous,  and  impatient  of  delay. 
I^or  less  attractive  is  tbe  woodland  scene, 
Diversified  witb  trees  of  every  growtb — 
Alike,  yet  various.     Hei'e  tbe  gray  smooth  trunks      302 
or  linip^  pv  hppcb^  d'^^^^ctlv  sbinq^ 
/jtbjn  th(^  twiljcHit-,  of  tli'^^ir  distant  sbad^s ; 
tbere^lost  bebind  a  rising  ground,  tbe  wood 
Seems  sunk,  and  sborten'd  to  its  toi)most  boughs. 
No  tree  in  all  tbe  grove  but  bas  its  charms, 
Tbnn<Th  fpfb  it^  bue  peculiar ;  paler  some, 
And  of  a  wannisli  gray:  iRe  willow  sucb, 
And  I2i2]jlaf,  that  with  silver  lines  bis  leaf. 
And  ash  tar  ^tretcbing  bis  umbraL^eous  (iriii ; 
Of  di^)er  green^ttie  ebn;  and  deeper  still. 
Lord  of  the  woc^ds,  tne  long-surviving  oak. 


THE    TASK.  1*79 

Some  ^ossy-Ieaved,  and  shining  in  the  sun, 

The  maple,  and  the  beecli  of  oily  nuts 

Prolitic,  and  the  Hme  at  dewy  eve 

Diffusing  odors :  nor  unnoted  pass 

The  sycamore,  ca[)ricioi|s^in  attire, 

Now  green,  now  tawcyrand,  ere  autunm  yet 

Have  chhnged  the  woods,  in  scarlet  honors  bright. 

OVn-  tliese,  but  far  beyond  (a  si)acious  map 

Of  hill  and  valley  interposed  between), 

The  Ouse,  dividing  the  well-waterM  land,  323 

Now  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  now  retires. 

As  bashful,  yet  impatient  to  be  seen. 

Hence  the  declivity  is  sharp  and  short. 
And  such  the  reascent ;  between  them  weeps 
A  little  Naiad  her  impoverisliM  urn 
All  summer  long,  which  winter  fills  again. 
The  folded  gates  would  bar  my  progress  now, 
But  that  tlie  lord*  of  this  inclosed  demesne, 
Communicative  of  the  good  he  owns. 
Admits  me  to  a  share :  the  guiltless  eye 
Cornmits  no  wron^y^  ryt]-  wastes  what  it  enjoys.  334 

RefFeshiug  change!  where  now  the  biazmg  sun ? 
By  short  transition  we  have  lost  his  glare, 
And  stepi)'d  at  once  into  a  cooler  clime. 
Ye  fallen  avenues!  once  more  1  mourn 
Your  fate  unmerited,  once  more  rejoice 
That  yet  a  remnant  of  your  race  survives. 
How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch. 
Yet  awful  as  the  consecrated  roof 
Re-echoing  pious  anthems!  while  beneath, 
The  checker'd  earth  seems  restless  as  a  flood 
Brush VI  by  the  wind.     So  sportive  is  the  light        )   345 
Shot  through  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  they  dance, 
Shadow  and  sunshine  intermingling  quick. 
And  darkening  and  enlighteningj  as  the  leaves 
Play  wanton,  every  moment,  every  spot^ / 

And  noAV,  with  nerves  new  braced  and  spirits  cheer'd, 
"We  tread  the  wilderness,  whose  well-rolFd  walks, 
AVith  curvature  of  slow  and  easy  sweep — 
Deception  innocent — give  ample  si)ace 
To  narrow  bounds^  Tiie  grove  receives  us  n*xt; 
Between  the  upright  sliafts  of  Avhose  tall  elms 
^  See  the  foregoing  note. 


180  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Tliump  after  thump  resounds  tlie  constant  flail, 

That  seems  to  swing  uncertain,  and  yet  falls 

Full  on  the  destined  ear.     Wido,  flips  t.h<^  <^h^^ff; 

The  rustling  straw  sends  np  a  freduent  nii^t 

(^  atoms,  sparklmif  in  tlie  noonday  beam. 

Come  hither,  ye  that  press  your  beds  of  dovrn 

And  sleep  not — see  him  sweating  o'er  his  bread 

Before  he  eats  it.— (Tis  the  primal  curse, 

But  soften'd  into  mercy ;  made  the  pledge  SGu 

Of  cheerful  days,  and  nights  without  a  groai^ 

I    By  ceaseless  action,  all  that  is  subsists. 

Constant  rotation  of  the  unwearied  wheel 

That  Kature  rides  unon.  niaintains  her  health, 

Her  beauty,  her  tertiStv.     She  dreads 

An  instant's  pause,  and  liyes  but  whil^ 

Its  own  reyolyency  upTiokls  the  world! 

Winds  from  all  quarters  agitate  the  air, 

And  fit  the  limpid  element  for  use. 

Else  noxious:  oceans,  riyers,  lakes,  and  streams, 

All  feel  the  freshening  impulse,  and  are  cleansed         370 

By  restless  undulation.     Eyen  the  oak 

Tlivfyas  iTyTtTFrrrrTtt^  concussion  of  the  storm  : 

He  seems  indeed  indignant,  and  to  feel 

The  impression  of  the  blast  with  j)roud  disdain, 

Frowning,  as  if  in  his  unconscious  arm 

He  held  the  thunder.     But  the  monarch  owes 

His  firm  stability  to  what  he  scorns — 

i    More  fix'd  belo\y,  the  more  disturbed  aboye. 
The  law,  by  which  all  creatures  else  are  bound, 
JMnds  man  the  lord  of  all.     Himself  deriyes 

^No  mean  adyantage  from  a  kindred  cause,  387 

|From  slrenuous  toil  his  hours  of  sweetest  ease. 
Tlie  sedentary  stretch  their  lazy  length 
When  Custom  bids,  but  no  refreshment  find, 
For  none  they  need :  the  languid  eye,  the  cheek 
Deserted  of  its  bloom,  the  flaccid,  shrunk, 
And  wither'd  muscle,  and  the  ya})id  soul, 
Reproach  their  owner  lyith  that  loye  of  rest 
To  which  he  forfeits  eyen  the  rest  he  loyes. 

A  Not  such  the  alert  and  actiye.     Measure  life 
iBy  its  true  wortn,  tiie  cimiiorts  it  aflbrds, 
lAnd  theirs  alone  seems  worthy  of  the  name.  308 


THE    TASK.  181 

/  /  /  / 

Good  health,  and,  its  associate  in  tlie  most, 
'  Good  tei^iper;  s»^irits  pr(/nii)t  to  ii^Klert{rf<e, 
And  ii6t  soon  s|>^nt,  tliough  \A  an  afHluon.44^Jv ; 
The  powers  of  fancy  and  stronc^  thonglit  aretheirs  ; 
Even  age  itself  seems  privileged  in  them 
AVith  clear  exemption  from  its  own  defects. 
A  sparkling  eye  beneath  a  wrinkled  front 
The  veteran  shows,  and,  gracing  a  gray  beard 
AVith  yonthful  smiles,  descends  towards  the  grave 

Sprightly  and  old  almost  without  deca^\ /  408 

Like  a  coy  maiden.  Ease,  when  courted  most,    * 
Farthest  retires — an  id(^,  at  whose  slirine 
Who  ofteiwst  sacrifice  arelfavor'd  least. 

iThe  love  of  Nature,  and  the  scenes  she  draws, 
Is  Nature's  dictate.     Strange!  there  should  be  found, 
AVho,  self-imprison'd  in  their  proud  saloons,  ' 
Eenounce  the  odors  of  the  open  field 
For  the  unscented  fictions  of  the  loom  ; 
"VVho,  satisfied  with  only  pencill'd  scenes. 
Prefer  to  the  performance  of  a  God 
The  inferior  wonders  of  an  artist's  liand,  41J)' 

y.ovely  indeed  the  mimic  works  of  Art; 
l^ut  Nature's  works  far  lovelier.     I  admire — 
None  more  admires — the  painter's  magic  skill, 
AVho  shows  me  that  Avhich  I  shall  never  see. 
Conveys  a  distant  country  into  mine. 
And  throwsTtalian  light  on  English  walls  r 
JUit  imitative  strok-es  can  do  no  more 
'lllian  please  the  eye- — sweet  Nature  every  sense 
jTlje  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hills, 
'The  cheering  fragrance  of  her  dewy  vales. 
And  music  of  her  woods — no  works  of  man  430^ 

.^lay  rival  these;  these  all  bespeak  a  power 
Peculiar,  and  exclusively  her  own. 
Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast; 
'Tis  free  to  all — 'tis  every  day  renewed ; 
Who  scorns  it,  starves  deservedly  at  home. 
lie  does  not  scorn  it,  who,  imprison'd  long 
In  some  unwholesome  dungeon,  and  a  prey 
To  sallow  sickness,  which  the  vapors,  dank 
And  clammy,  of  his  dark  abode  have  bred^ 
Escapes  at  last  to  liberty  and  liglit: 
Ills  cheek  recovers  soon  its  healthful  hue ;  441 

IG 


X 


182  cowper's  poetical  works. 

His  eye  reliimines  its  extinguisliVl  fires; 
He  walks,  lie  leaps,  lie  runs — is  wiiigVl  with  joy, 
And  riots  in  the  sweets  of  every  breeze. 
He  does  not  scorn  it  wlio  has  long  endured 
,      A  fever's  agOnies,  and  fed  on  drugs. 

Nor  yet  the  mariner,  his  bl'O^'intianiQd    -  "■■ 
Witli  acrid  salts;  liis  very  h^rt  athirst 
To  gaze  at  Nature  in  her  green  array, 
Upon  the  ship's  tall  side  he  stands,  possess'd 
Witli  visions  prompted  by  intense  desire:  45] 

f'air  fields  appear  below,  sucli  as  he  left 
Far  distant,  such  as  lie  would  die  to  find — 
He  seeks  them  headlong,  and  is  seen  no  more. 
4      The  spleen  is  seldom  felt  where  Flora  reigns ; 
The  lowering  eye,  the  petulance,  the  frown, 
And  sullen  sadness,  that  o'ershade,  distort, 
And  mar  the  face  of  Beauty,  when  no  cause 
For  such  immeasurable  woe  appears — 
These  Flora  banishes,  and  gives  the  fair 
~weet  smiles,  andljloom  less  transient  than  her  own.J 
'  is  the  coiistant  revolution,  stale  ._  "  4G! 

d  tasteless,  ot  tlie  same  repeated  joys, 
That  palls  and  satiates,  and  makes  languid  life 
A  pedler's  pack,  tliat  bows  tlie  bearer  down. 
Health  suflfers,  and  the  spirits  ebb,;  the  lieart 
Recoils  from  its  own  choice — at  the  full  feast 
Is  famish'd — finds  no  music  in  the^song. 
No  smartness  in  the  jest;  and  wonders  wdiy. 
Yet  thousands  still  desire  to  journey  on, 
Though  halt,  and  weary  of  the  path  they  tread, 
The  paralytic,  who  can  hold  her  cards. 
But  cannot  play  them,  borrows  a  friend's  hand  47i 

To  deal  and  shuffle,  to  divide  and  sort 
Her  mingled  suits  and  sequences ;  and  sits, 
Spectatress  both  and  spectacle,  a  sad 
And  silent  cipher,  while  her  proxy  plays. 
Others  are  dragg'd  into  the  crowded  room 
Between  supporters ;  and,  once  seated,  sit, 
Through  downright  inability  to  rise. 
Till  the  stout  bearers  lift  the  corpse  again. 
These  speak  a  loud  memento.     Yet  even  these 
Themselves  love  life,  and  cling  to  it,  as  he 
That  overhangs  a  torrent,  to  a  twig.  8- 


\  An- 


THE    TASK.  1S3 

They  love  it,  and  yet  loatlie  it;  fear  to  die,  '/ 
Yet  scorn  tlie  purposes  for  wliich  tliey  live. 
Tlien  wlierefore  not  renounce  them  ?     No — the  dread, 
The  slavish  dread  of  solitude,  that  breeds 
Reflection  and  remorse,  the  tear  of  sliame,  I 

And  their  inveterate  habits,  all  forbid!  ' 

Whom  call  we  gay?     That  honor  has  been  lon<j 

^The  boast  of  mere  jjretenders  to  the  name. 
Tlie  innocent  are  gay — tl^o  Inrk  is  ^n^^. 
Thnt  di-ies  liis;  ffpfjipfs.  saturate  witli  dew,  494 

J^eneath  the  rosy  cloud,  while  yet  the  beams 
Of  dayspring  overshoot  his  humble  nest. 
Tl  1  e  iieasant^  too,  a  witness  of  his  spng, 
II i mself  a  songster,  is  as  gay  as  he. 
J>ut  save  me  from  the  gayety  oi'  those  , 

Whose  headaches  nail  them  to  a  noonday  bed; 
And  save  me  too  from  theirs,  whose  haggard  eyes 
Flash  desperation,  and  betray  their  pangs 
For  ])ropcrty  strippM  off  by  cruel  chance; 
From  gayety,  that  tills  the  bones  with  pain, 
Tlie  mouth  with  blasphemy,  the  heart  with  woe.  /     505 

The  earth  was  made  so  various,  that  the  mind  j 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change, 
And  pleased  with  novelty,  might  be  indulged. 
Prosj^ects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  ftide;  the  weary  sight. 
Too  well  acquainted  with  their  smiles,  slides  oflf 
Fastidious,  seeking  less  familiar  scenes. 

"Then  snug  inclosures  in  the  shelter'd  vale, 
AVhere  frequent  hedges  intercept  the  eye, 
Delight  us;  happy  to  renounce  awhile, 
Ni)t  senseless  of  its  clyirnis.  what  still  we  love,  516 

Tliat  sucIj  short  absence  may  endear  it  more.       *- 

^Then  forests,  or  the  savage  rock,  may  please, 
Tliat  hides  the  sea-mew  in  his  hollow  clefts 
Above  the  reach  of  man.  >  His  hoary  head, 
Conspicuous  many  a  league,  the  mariner. 
Bound  homeward,  and  in  ho])e  already  there, 
Greets  Avith  three  cheers  exidting.     At  his  waist 
A  girdle  of  lialf-witherd  shrubs  he  shows, 
And  at  his  feet  the  batlled  billows  die.  J 
f    The  c<imnK)n,  overgrown  with  fern,  and  rougii 

'With  prickly" g(»rse,  tiiat,  shapeless  and  deform'd,        527 


184  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  dangerous  to  the  touch,  has  yet  its  bloom, 

And  decks  itself  with  ornaments  of  gold, 

Yields  no  unpleasing  ramble ;  there  tlie  turf         •  ^ 

Smells  fresh,  and,  rich  in  odoriferous. herbs       Q'w^  i 

And  fungous  fruits  of  earth,  regales  the  sense  ' 

With  luxury  of  unexpected  sweets. 

There  often  wanders  one,  whom  better  days 

Saw  better  clad,  in  cloak  of  satin  trimm'd   ' 

With  lace,  and  hat  with  splendid  ribbon  bound. 

A  serving  maid  was  she,  and  fell  in  love  '537 

With  one  who  left  her,  went  to  sea,  and  died. 

Her  fancy  followed  him  through  foaming  waves 

To  distant  shores ;'  and  she  would  sit  and  weep 

At  what  a  sailor  suffers ;  fancy  too. 

Delusive  most  where  warmest  wishes  are, 

Would  oft  anticipate  his  glad  return. 

And  dream  of  transports  she  was  not  to  know. 

She  heard  the  doleful  tidings  of  his  death — 

And  never  smiled  again  !     And  now  she  roams 

The  dreary  waste;  there  spends  the  livelong  day, 

And  there,  unless  when  charity  forbids,  548 

The  livelong  night.     A  tatter'd  apron  hides, 

Worn  as  a  cloak,  and  hardly  hides,  a  gown 

More  tatter'd  still ;  and  both  but  ill  conceal 

A  bosom  heaved  with  never-ceasing  sighs. 

She  begs  an  idle  pin  of  all  she  meets. 

And  hoards  them  in  her  sleeve;  but  needful  food. 

Though  pressM  with  hunger  oft,  or  comelier  clothes. 

Though  pinch'd  with  cold,  asks  never. — Kate  is  crazeclL/ 

I  see  a  column  of  doAV-rising  smoke 
O'ertop  the  lofty  wood  that  skirts  the  wild. 
A  vagabond  and  useless  tribe  ther^  eat  653 

Their  miserable  meal.     A  kettle,  slung 
Between  two  poles  upon  a  stick  transverse, 
Receives  the  morsel — flesh  obscene  of  dog, 
Or  vermin,  or,  at  best,  of  cock  purloin'd 
From  his  accustomVl  perch.     Hard  faring  race ! 
They  pick  their  fuel  out  of  every  hedge. 
Which,  kindled  with  dry  leaves,  just  saves  unquench'd 
The  spark  of  life.     The  sportive  wind  blows  wide 
Their  fluttering  rags,  and  shows  a  tawny  skin. 
The  vellum  of  the  pedigree  they  claim. 
Grea^-  skill  have  they  in  palmistry,  and  more  570 


I 


THE    TASK.  185 

To  conjure  clean  away  the  gold  they  touch,         * 

Conveying  worthless  dross  into  its  place  ^  '^  ^— - 

Loud  when  they  beg,  dumb  only  when  they  steal. 

Strange!  that  a  creature  rational,  and  cast    \ 

In  human  mould,  should  brutalize  by  choice  I 

His  nature ;  and,  though  capable  of  arts        I 

By  which  the  world  might  profit,  and  himself, 

Self-banish VI  from  society,  prefer  \V\  . 

Such  squalid  sloth  to  honorable  toil !  g^^^     *,»:n«^ 

Yet  even  these,  though,  feigning  sickness  oft,**  580 

They  swathe  the  forehead,  drag  the  limping  limb, 

And  vlx  tlieir  flesh  with  artificial  sores, — 

Can  change  their  whine  into  a  mirthful  note. 

When  safe  occasion  offers  ;  and  with  dance. 

And  music  of  the  bladder  and  the  bag, 

Beguile  their  woes,  and  make  the  w^oods  resound. 

Such  health  and  gayety  of  heart  enjoy 

The  houseless  rovers  of  the  sylvan  world  ;  ,«^  j         > 

And,  breathing  wholesome  air,  and  wandering  much,      ]  Jyf^ 

Need  other  physic  none  to  heal  the  effects  *J 

Of  loathsome  diet,  penury,  and  cold^  59 1, 

Blest  he^  though  undistijiguish^d  from  the  craw d 
By  wealth  or  dignity,  who  (1  wells  secure, 
uhere  niah,  by  MtTire  flt^rge^  has  laifnifiirlft. 
n i s  iiercenesf^,  Imving  |pnrr^t,^  ^IlPJigh  slow  t^  learn. 
The  manners  and  the  arts  of  civil  life.  ^^^ 
His  wants,  indeed,  are" many;  but  sirp]^)iy 
Is  obvious,  placed  within  the  easy  reach 
Of  temperate  wishes  and  industrious  hands,  j. 
Here  Virtue  thrives  as  in  her  proper  soil  ;v^ 
Not  rude  and  sui-ly,  and  beset  with  thorns, 
And  terrible  to  sight,  as  when  she  springsj  ^     602 

(If  e'er  she  springs  spontaneous)  in  remote 
And  barbarous^climes,  wliere  violence  prevails, 
And  strength  is  lord  of  all ;  but  gentle,  kind. 
By  culture  tamed,  by  liberty  refresh'd, 
And  all  her  fruits  by  radiant  truth  matured. 
War  and  tjie  chase  engross  the  savagewhole : 
War  loiiowM  for  revenge,  or  to  supplant 
The  envied  tenants  of  some  happier  spot: 
The  chase  for  sustenance,  precarious  trust ! 
His  hard  condition  with  severe  constraint 
Binds  all  his  facullies,  forbids  all  growth  613: 


1 


186  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  wisdom,  proves  a  school  in  which  he  learns 
Sly  circumvefttion,  unrelenting'liate, ' 
Mean  self-attacliment,  and  scarce  aught  beside- 
•*— Thus  fare  the  shivering  natives  of  the  north, 
And  thus  the  rangers  of;the  western  world^ 
"Wherje  it  advances  far  inV>  the  deep,  \ 

Towards  the  Antarcti^^  Even  the  favor'd  isles 
So  lately  found,  althougli  the  Tionstant  sun   * 
Cheer  all  their  seasons  with  a  grateful  smile,* 
Can  boast  but  little  virtue ;  and  inert       •  623 

"^Through  plenty,  lose  in  morals  what  they  gain' 
In  manners — victims  of  luxurious  ease. 
These  therefore  I  can  pity,  placed  remote 
From  all  that^cience  traces,  art  invents, 
Or  inspiration  teaches;  and  inclosed 
~n  boundless  oceans,  never  to  be  pass'd 
By  navigators  uninformM  as  they. 
Or  ploughed  perhaps  by  British  bark  again. 
But  far  beyond  the  rest,  and  with  most  cause, 
'^lee,  gentle  savage!^  Avhom  no  love  of  thee 
Or  thine,  but  curiosity  perhaps,  634 

Or  else  vain-glory,  prompted  us  to  draw 
Forth  from  thy  native  bowers,  to  show  thee  here 
AYith  Avhat  superior  skill  we  can  abuse 
The  gifts  of  Providence,  and  squander  life. 
The  dream  is  past;  and  thou  hast  found  again 
Thy  cocoas  and  bananas,  palms  and  yams. 
And  homestall  thatch'd  with  leaves.    But  hast  thou  found 
Their  former  charms?     And,  having  seen  our  state, 
Our  palaces,  our  ladies,  and  our  pomp 
Of  equipage,  oilr  gardens,  and  our  sports. 
And  heard  our  music ;  are  tliy  simple  friends,  645 

Thy  simple  fair,  and  all  thy  plain  delights. 
As  dear  to  thee  as  once?/  And  have  thy  joys 
Lost  nothing  by  comparison  with  ours? 
Kude  as  thou  art  (for  we  returned  thee  rude 
And  ignorant,  except  of  outward  show), 
I  cannot  think  thee  yet  so  dull  of  heart 
And  spiritless,  as  never  to  regret 
Sweets  tasted  here,  and  left  as  soon  as  known.] 
Methinks  I  see  thee  straying  on  the  beach. 
And  asking  of  the  surge,  that  bathes  thy  foot, 
1  Oraai. 


THE    TASK.  187 

If  ever  it  lias  wash 'd  our  distant  sliore. 
I  see  thee  weep,  and  thine  are  lionest  tears, 
A  patriot's  for  his  country.     Thou  art  sad 
At  thought  of  her  fork)rn  and  abject  state, 

'  From  which  no  power  of  thinfe  can  raise  lier  up. 

^  Thus  Fancy  paints  thee,  and,  though  apt  to  err, 

\Perhaps  errs  httle  wlien  she  paints  thee  thus. 

^  She  tells  nie  too,  that  duly  every  morn 
Thou  climb'st  tlie  mountain-top,  with  eager  eye 
Exploring  far  and  wide  the  watery  waste  665 

For  sight  of  ship  from  England.     Every  speck 
Seen  in  the  dim  horizon  turns  thee  pale 
With  conllict  of  contending  hopes  and  fears. 
But  comes  at  last  the  dull  and  dusky  eve. 
And  sends  thee  to  thy  cabin,  well  prepared 
To  dream  all  niglit  of  what  the  day  denied. 

^  Alas !  expect  it  not.     AVe  found  no  bait 
To  tempt  us  in  thy  country.     Doing  gQod,"!   \^ 
Disinterested  good,  is  not  our  trade.  — -^    * 

AVe  travel  far,  'tis  true,  but  not  for  naught;  ^ 

And  must  be  bribed  to  compass  Earth  again  676 

By  other  hopes  and  richer  fruits  than  yours^/ 

But  thougl^nie  worth  and  viHue  in  the  miJld    | 
And  genial  soTTof  <^lTlTlVatea  lite^ 


TlinvejiK)st^nd  ma^p£HlIl7)?rtlLiiY^.onlv^the     ;  )  ^ 
-^"et  not  in  cities  oft — in  proud,  and  gay,  '  ■ 

And  gain-devoted  cities.     Thither  flow. 
As  to  arcoiiiiiicitllind  most  noisome  sewer. 
The  dregs  and  feculence  of  ever}^  land. 
In  cities,  foul  example  on  most  minds 
Begets  its  likeness.     Rank  abundance  breeds,       ♦  * 
In  gross  and  pamper'd  cities,  slotlj,  and  lust,    -Cr     687 
And  wantonness,  and  gluttonous  excess.  Cr 

In  cities,  vice  is  hidden  with  most  ease, 
Or  seen  with  least  reproach  ;  and  virtue,  taught 
By  frequent  lapse,  can  hope  no  triumph  there  / 

Beyond  the  achievement  of  successful  flidit.  f-        \ 
-"l  do  confess  them  nurseries  of  the_arts. 
In  which  they  flourish  most;  where,  in  the  beams 
Of  warm  encouragement,  and  in  the  eye 
Of  public  note,  they  reach  their  perfect  _size. 
Such  London  is,  by  taste  and%ealth  proclaim'd  ^ 

The  fairest  capital  of  all  the  world, 


188  cowper's  poetical  works. 

By  riot  and  incontinence  the  worst. 

•  ^^'liere,  toucli'd  by  Reynolds,  a  dull  blank  becomes 
A  lucid  mirror,  in  which  Nature  sees 
All  her  reflected  features.     Bacon  there        •- 
Gives  more  than  female  beajity  to  a  stone, 
And  Chatham's  eloquence  to  marble  lips. 
Nor  does  the  chisel  occupy  alone 
The  powers  of  sculpture,  but  the  style  as  much ; 
Eaqli  provmce  of  her  art  her  equal  carer 
"With  nice  incision  of  her  guided  steel  708 

She  ploughs  a  brazen  field,  and  clothes  a  soil 
So  sterile,  with  what  charms  soe'er^he  will, 
<Tl*e  richest  scenery  and  the  loveliest  forms. 

T"^Vhere  finds  JlbiiiiLjpiLy  her  eagle  e5''e, 
Witli  which  she  gazes  at  yon  burning  disk 
Undazzled,  and  detects  and  counts  his  spots  ? 
In  London.     Where  her  implements  exact, 
With  which  she  calculates,  computes,  and  scans 
All  distance,  motion,  magnitude,  and  now 
Measures  an  atom,  and  now  girds  a  world? 
•*^--t.In  London.     Where  hnct  for" '^"'^'•^e  such  a  mart,  719 

So  rich,  so  throng'd,  so  drainVl,  and  so  supplied, 

•  As  Loudon — opulent,  enlarged,  and  still 
Increasing,  London  ?     Babylon  of  old 
Not  more  the  glory  of  the  earth*  than  she 

A  more  aC^'^^^iplifrh'^l   -ii-ri]-lrV>'  nl^nf  ni.1mn|T  .nri^w 

"      bhe  has  her  ppgid©^     Now  mark  a  spot  or  two, 

That  so  much  beaivfe^sjuiijld  do  well  to  purge ; 

And  show  this  Queen  oH^ities,  that  so  fair 

May  yet  be  foul ;  so  witty,  yet  not  wise. 

It  is  not  seemly,  nor  of  good  report, 
,,  iThat  she  i^jjaek  in  disci pliiTc — more  prompt  730 

^To  avenge  than  to  prevent  the  breach  of  law : 

That  she  is  rigid  in  denouncing  death 
f-^On  petty  robbers,  and  indulges  life  ^ 

And  liberty,  and  ofttimes  honor  too. 

To  peculators  of  the  public  gold : 

Zat  thieves  at  home  must  hang ;  but  1"^  that  puts 
.0  his  overgorged  and  bloated  purse 
,^-The  wealth  of  Indian  provinces,  escapes^ 
,    Nor  is  it  well,  nor  can  it  come  to  good, 
That,  through  profane  and  infidel  contempt 
Of  Holy  Writ,  she  has  presumed  to  annul  741 


THE    TASK.  189 

And  abrogate,  as  roundly  as  she  may, 

The  total  ordinance  and  will  of  God  ; 

Advancing  Fashion  to  tlie  post  of  Triith,-^ 

And  centering  all  authority  in  modes 

And  customs  of  her  own,  till  Sabbath  rites  I 

Have  dwindled  into  unrespected  form?, 

Aiid  knees  and  hassocks  are  well-nigh  divorced^     -^ 

CGod  made  the  countrv^  nnd  man  innjlr  tllP  ^'^^^"^  '  )     ^ 
What  wonder,  then,  that  health  and  virtue,  gift:^ 
That  can  alone  make  sweet  the  bitter  draught  751 

That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 

And  least  be  threatened  in  the  fields  and  groves?} 

Possess  ye  therefore,  ye  who,  borne  about-'- — • 

In  chariots  and  sedans,  know  no  fatigue  . 

But  that  of  idleness,  and  taste  no  scenes  ' 

But  such  as  art  contrives — possess  ye  still 

Your  element;  there  only  ye  can  shine; 

There  only  minds  like  yours  can  do  no  harm.  * 

Our  groves  were  planted  to  console  at  noon 

The  pensive  w^anderer  in  their  shadesy^At  eve 

The  mpojQ beam ^^-alidimr^oftly  in  between  762 

The  sleeping  leay^s.  is  all  the  light  they^vish — 

Birds  warbling  all  the  music.     We  can  spare  ^ 

The  splendor  of  your  lamps ;  they  but  eclipse 

Our  softer  satellite.    Your  songs  confound 

Our  more  harmonious  notes.    The  thrush  departs 

Scared,  and  the  offended  niglitingale  is  mute. 

There  is  a  public  mischief  in  your  mirth; 

It  plagues  your  country.     Folly  such  as  yours, 

Graced  with  a  sword,  and  wi^rthier  of  a  fan, 

Has  :^Uafle.  whnt  Pl^^n^jp^  ^rwilrl   noVv  Imv.^  t^\c^x^c^^ 

Our  arch  nf  pmpii^^^  ^^^H^lfllf^t  hv^  ^''^''  y^^^  773 


BOOK  II.-TIIE  TIME-PIECE. 


THE  APwGUMENT. 

Reflections  suggested  by  the  conclusion  of  the  former  book,  1— Peace  among  the 
nations  recommended  on  the  ground  of  their  common  fellowship  in  sorrow,  48 — 
Prodigies  enumerated,  53— Sicilian  earthquakes,  75— Man  rendered  obnoxious  to 
these  calamities  by  sin,  133— God  the  agent  in  them,  161— The  philosophy  that 
stops  at  secondary  causes  reproved,  174— Our  owp  late  miscarriages  accounted 
for,  206— Satirical  notice  taken  of  our  trips  to  Fontainebleau,  2554-But  the  pulpit, 
not  satire,  the  prop'er  engine  of  reformation,  2854-The  reverend  advertiser  of 
engraved  sermons,  351— Petit-maitre  parson,  372— ^ffe good  preacher,  395— Picture 
of  a  theatrical  clerical  coxcomb,  414— Story-tellers  and  jesters  in  the  pulpit  re- 
proved, 463— Apostrophe  to  popular  applause,  481— Retailers  of  ancient  philosophy 
expostulated  with,  499— Sum  of  the  whole  matter,  531— Effects  of  sacerdotal  mis- 
management on  the  laity,  545— Their  folly  and  extravagance,  574— The  mischiefs 
of  profusion,  667— Profusion  itself,  with  all  ifs  consequent  evils,  ascribed,  as  to  its 
principal  c;iu>«,  to  the  w.iiit  orUisciplino  in  the  universities,  699. 

On  for  a  hd^Q  in  somo  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
AVhere  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit^ 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  wqx^,, 
J  Might  never  reach  me  more!  ,/My  ear  is  pain'd, 
[My  soul  is  sick,  with  every  day's  report 
vOf  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is  fill'd. 
There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdurate  heart; 
It  does  not  feel  for  man.    The  natural  bond  9 

•         Of  brotherhood  is  sever'd,  as  the  flax 
That  falls  asunder  at  tlie  touch  of  fire. 
I  Tx  -^He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 

^^ot  color'd  like  his  own ;  and  having  power 
I  To  enforce  the  wrong,  for  sucli  a  worthy  cause 
--1 -Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  his  lawful  prey. 
/Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
^Abhor  each  other.    Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  dro])s  been  mingled  into  one. 


Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys  ;         ^ 


> 


THE    TASK.  191 

And,  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  be  deplored. 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot, 
—Chains  him,  and  tasks. him,  and  exacts  his  sweat       » 
With  stripes,  thatTIercy,  with  a  bleeding  heart, 
AVeeps  when  slie  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 
Then  what  is  man?    And  what  man,  seeing  this, 
And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  blush 
And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  man?  ^^ 
I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground,'r — 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  sleep,  30 

And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wealth 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  earn'd. 
No:  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's 
Just  estimation  prized  above  all  price,  .      x 

I  had  much  ratlier  be  myself  the  slave,  j 

And  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  him.    (    • 
We  have  no  slaves  at  home — then  Avhy  abroad? 
And  they  themselves,  once  ferried  o'er  the  wave 
That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loosed. 
Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free;  41 

They  touch  oui*  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  jealous  of  the  blessing.    Spread  it  then. 
And  let  it  circulate  through  every  Vein 
Of  all  your  empire !  that,  where  Britain's  power 
Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  ido^/ 

Sure  there  is  need  of  social  intercourse,  , 

Benevolence,  and  peace,  and  mutual  aid,         ' 
Between  the  nations  in  a  world  that  seems 
To  toll  the  death-bell  of  its  own  decease,     ^ 
And  by  the  voice  of  all  its  elements  52 

To  preach  the  general  doom.^  \  When  were  the  winds 
Let  slip  with  such  a  warrant  to  destroy  ? 
When  did  the  waves  so  haughtily  o'erleap 
Their  ancient  barriers,  deluging  the  dry? 
Fires  from  beneath,  and  meteors^  from  above, 
Portentous,  unexampled,  unexplain'd. 
Have  kindled  beacons  in  the  skies ;  and  the  old 
And  crazy, Earth  has  had  her  shaking  fits 
More  frequent,  and  foregone  her  usual  rest. 
Is  it  a  time  to  Avrangle,  when  the  props 

1  Alluding  to  the  calamities  in  Jamaica. — ^  August  IS,  1783. 


s^ 


192  cowper's  poetical  works. 

r''      And  pillars  of  our  planet  seem  to  fail, 
V     And  Nature^  with  a  dim  and  sickly  eye 
To  wait  tlie  close  of  all  ?    But  grant  her  end 
More  distant,  and  that  prophecy  demands 
A  longer  respite,  unaccomplished  yet; 
Still  they  are  frowning  signals,  and  bespeak 
Displeasure  in  His  breast  who  smites  the  Earth 
Or  heals  it,  makes  it  languish  or  rejoice. 
And  'tis  but  seemly,  that  where  all  deserve 
And  stand  exposed  by  common  peccancy  72 

To  what  no  few  have  felt,  there  sliould  be  peace, 
f  And  brethren  in  calamity  should  love.  ] 
-»       Alas  for  Sicily !  rude  fragments  nrnv 

Lie  scattered  where  the  shapely  column  stood. 
Her  palaces  are  dust.    In  all  her  streets 
The  voice  of  singing  and  the  sprightly  chord 
Are  silent.    Revelry,  and  dance,  and  show, 

)  Suffer  a  syncope  and  solemn  pause ; 
AYhile  God  performs  upon  the  trembling  stage 
Of  his  Own  works  his  dreadful  part  alone. 
How  does  the  Earth  receive  him? — with  what  si^rns     83 


(Vy  Of  gratulation  and  deliglit  her  Kin, 
^      Pours  she  n 


not  all  her  choicest  fruits  abroad, 
Her  sweetest  flowers,  heral'omatic  gums. 
Disclosing  Paradise  where'er  he  treads  ? 
She  quakes  at  his  approach.     Her  hollow  womb, 
Conceiving  thunders,  tlirough  a  thousand  deeps 
And  fiery  caverns,  roars  beneath  his  foot. 
The  hills  move  lightly,  and  the  mountains  smoke, 
Eor  He  has  touch'd  them.    From  the  cxtremest  point 
Of  elevation  down  into  the  abyss. 

His  wrath  is  busy,  and  his  frown  is  felt.  04 

The  rocks  fall  headlong,  and  the  valleys  rise ; 
The  rivers  die  into  offensive  pools. 
And,  charged  with  putrid  verdure,  breathe  a  gross 
And  mortal  nuisance  into  all  the  air. 
What  solid  was,  by  transformation  strange, 
Grows  fluid ;  and  the  flx'd  and  rooted  earth. 
Tormented  into  billows,  heaves  and  swells, 
Or  with  vortiginous  and  hideous  whirl 

^  Alluding  to  the  fog  that  covered  both  Europe  and  Asia  during  the  whole 
summer  of  17S3. 


THE    TASK.  193 

Sucks  down  its  prey  insatiable.     Immense 

The  tiinmlt  and  the  overthrow,  the  pangs 

And  agonies  of  human  and  of  brute 

Multitudes,  fugitive  on  every  side, 

And  fugitive  in  vain.     The  sylvan  scene* ' 

Migrates  uplifted  ;  and  with  all  its  soil 

Alighting  in  far  distant  fields,  finds  out 

A  new  possessor,  and  survives  the  change. 

Ocean  has  caught  the  frenzy,  and,  upwrought 

To  an  enormous  and  overbearing  height,  112 

Not  by  a  mighty  wind,  but  by  that  voice 

Which  wincb  and  waves  obey,  invades  the  shore 

Resistless.     Never  such  a  sudden  flood, 

Upridged  so  high,  and  sent  on  such  a  charge, 

PossessVl  an  inland  scene.     Where  now  the  throng 

That  press'd  tlie  beach,  and,  hasty  to  depart, 

Loolv'd  to  the  sea  for  safety  ?     They  are  gone, 

Gone  with  the  refluent  wave  into  the  deep — 

A  prince  with  half  his  people  !     Ancient  towers, 

And  roofs  embattled  high^  the  gloomy  scenes, 

AVhere  beauty  oft  and  lettered  worth  consume  123 

Life  in  the  unproductive  shades  of  death, 

Fall  prone ;  the  pale  inhabitants  come  forth, 

And,  happy  in  their  unforeseen  release 

From  all  the  rigors  of  restraint,  enjoy 

The  terrors  of  the  day  that  sets  them  free. 

Who  then,  that  has  thee,  would  not  hold  thee  fast. 

Freedom !  whom  they  .that  lose  thee  so  regret,  "^^ 

That  even  a  judgment,  making  way  for  thee. 

Seems  in  their  eyes  a  mercy  for  thy  sake?_/ 

Such  evils  Sin  hath  wrought;  and  sucna  flame 
Kindled  in  heaven,  that  it  burns  down  to  Earth,         134 
And,  in  the  furious  inquest  that  it  makes 
On  God's  behalf,  lays  waste  his  fairest  works. 
The  very  elements,  though  eacli  be  meant 
The  minister  of  man,  to  serve  his  wants, 
Conspire  against  him.     With  his  breath  he  draws 
A  plague  into  his  blood ;  and  cannot  use 
Life's  necessary  means,  but  he  must  die. 
Storms  rise  to  o'erwhelm  hfm :  or  if  stormy  winds 
liise  not,  the  waters  of  the  deep  shall  rise. 
And,  needing  none  assistance  of  the  storm, 
Shall  roll  themselves  ashore,  and  reach  him  there. 
17 


/ 


194  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  earth  shall  shake  him  out  of  all  his  holds, 
Or  make  his  liouse  his  grave :  nor  so  content, 
Shall  counterfeit  the  motions  of  the  flood, 
And  drown  him  in  her  dry  and  dusty  gulfs.  > 
What  then  ! — were  they  the  wicked  above  all, 
And  we  the  righteous,  whose  fiXst-anchor\l  isle 
Moved  not,  while  theirs  was  rock'd,  like  a  light  skiff, 

tThe  sport  of  every  wave  ?  No :  none  are  clear, 
And  none  than  we  more  guilty.  But,  where  all 
Stand  chargeable  witli  guilt,  and  to  the  shafts  1 

Of  wrath  obnoxious,  God  may  choose  his  mark : 
May  punish,  if  he  i^lease,  the  less,  to  warn 

SThe  more  malignant.     If  lie  spared  not  them. 
Tremble  and  be  amazed  at  thine  escape. 
Far  guiltier  England,  lest  he  spare  not  theelj 
A     Happy  the  man  who  sees  a  God  employ^3  -^i       , 
in  all  the  good  and  ill  that  checker  life!         J 
I  Resolving  all  events,  Avith  their  effects 
/  And  manifold  results,  into  the  will 
1  And  arbitration  wise  of  the  Supreme. 
Did  not  his  eye  rule  all  things,  and  intend  161 

The  least  of  our  concerns  (since  from  the  least 
i^  "    Tlw?.  greatest  oft  originate) — co^ild  cjiance 
^    Find  place  inJji|s^dpmhiion,  or  dispose 
One  laVless 'particle  to  thwart  his  plan — 

I  Then  God  might  be  surprised,  and  unforeseen 
Contingence  might  alarm  him,  and  disturb 
The  smooth  and  equal  course  of  his  affiiirs./ 
.  jThis  truth.  Philosophy,  though  eagle-eyed, 
bn  [N'ature's  tendencies,  oft  overlooks  ; 
■    And,  having  found  his  instrument,  forgets. 

Or  disregards,  or,  more  presumptuous  stiU,    I  171 

Denies  the  power  that  wields  it.     God  proclaims 
His  hot  displeasure  against  foolish  men, 
>   That  live  an  atheist  life  :  involves  the  heaven 
In  tempests ;  quits  his  grasp  upon  the  winds. 
And  gives  them  all  their  fury ;  bids  a  plague 
Kindle  a  fiery  boil  upon  the  skin. 
And  putrefy  the  breath  of  blooming  Health. 
He  calls  for  Famine,  and  the  meagre  fiend 
Blows  mildew  from  between  his  shrivelFd  lips. 
And  taints  the  golden  ear.     He  springs  his  mines, 
And  desolates  a  nation  at  a  blast.  18( 


THE    TASK.  195 


/ 


Forth  steps  the  spruce  philosopher,  and  tells     j 

Of  homogeiieal  and  discordant  springs 

And  principles ;  of  causes,  how  they  Avork 

By  necessary  laws  their  sure  effects ; 

Of  action  and  reaction:  he  has  found 

The  source  of  the  disease  that  Nature  feels, 

And  bids  the  world  take  heart  and  banish  fear.| 

Thou  fool !  will  thy  discovery  of  the  cause 

Suspend  the  effect,  or  heal  it?     Has  not  God 

Still  wrought  by  means  since  first  he  made  the  world  ?  108 

And  did  he  not  of  old  em[)loy  his  means 

To  drown  it?     "What  is  his  creation  less 

Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means 

Form'd  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  will  ? 

Go,  dress  thine  eyes  with  eye-salve ;  ask  of  him, 

j    Or  ask  of  whomsoever  he  has  taught ; 

[  And  learn,  though  late,  the  genuine  cause  of  all. 
England,  with  all  thy  faults^  I  loveJLlifi,e.,&till- 
My  country!  and,  while  yet  a  nook  is  left, 
AVhere  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found. 
Shall  be  constrained  to  love  thee.     Though  thy  clime 
Be  fickle,  and  thy  year  most  part  deform'd  209 

'^Vith  dripping  rains,  or  witlier'd  by  a  frost — 
I  would  not  yet  excliange  thy  sullen  skies, 
And  fields  without  a  flower,  for  warmer  France 
AYith  all  her  vines ;  nor  for  Ausonia^s  groves 
Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bowers. 
To  shake  thy  senate,  and  from  heiglits  sublime 
Of  patriot  eloquence  to  flash  down  fire 
Upon  thy  foes,  was  never  meant  my  task:,    j^,'^ 

Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  tr.uje..a  huart  220 

As  aiTy'ilTTln^Wi^lierer'^And  I  can  feel 
Thy'foftte^ttR)';"arrd  with  a  just  disdain 
Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 
lieflect  dishonor  on  the  land  I  love, 
'^low,  in  the  name  of  soldiership  and  sense, 
Should  England  pros|)er,  when  such  things,  as  smooth 
And  tender  as  a  girl,  all  essenced  o'er 
With  odors,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet — 
"Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  myrtle  wreath,  ^ 

And  love  when  they  should  fight;  when  such  as  these 
Presume  to  lay  their  hand  upon  the  ark  231 


196  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause? 
Time  was  when  it  was  praise  and  boast  enough 
In  every  chme,  and  travel  where  we  might, 
That  we  were  born  her  children.     Praise  enough 

*     To  fill  the  ambition  of  a  private  man, 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  motlier  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

Farewell  those  honors,  and  farewell  with  them 

The  hope  of  such  hereafter !     They  have  fallen 

Each  in  his  field.of  glory ;  one  in  arms,  ,  ^^     _^         241 

And  one  in  council — Wolfe  upon  the  lap 

Of  smiling  Victory  that  moment  won. 

And  Chatham,  heart-sick  of  his  country's  shame ! 

They  made  us  many  soldiers.     Chatham  still 

Consulting  England's  happiness  at  home, 

Secured  it  by  an  unforgiving  frown, 

If  any  wrong'd  her.     Wolfe,  where'er  he  fought, 

Put  so  much  of  his  heart  into  his  act. 

That  his  example  had  a  magnet's  force. 

And  all  were  swift  to  follow  Avhom  all  loved. 

Those  suns  are  set.     Oh,  rise  some  other  such !  252 

Or  all  that  we  have  left  is  empty  talk 

Of  old  achievements,  and  despair  of  new\J 

Now  hoist  the  sail,  and  let  the  streamers  float 
Upon  the  wanton  breezes.     Strew  tht3  deck 
AVith  lavender,  and  sprinkle  li(|uid  sweets, 
That  no  rude  savor  maritime  invade 
The  nose  of  nice  nobility !     l^reathe  soft, 
Ye  clarionets;  and  softer  still,  ye  flutes; 
That  winds  and  waters,  lull'd  by  magic  sounds, 
May  bear  us  smoothly  to  the  Gallic  shore ! 

k^''True,  we  have  lost  an  empire — let  it  pass.  263 

True,  we  may  thank  the  perfidy  of  France, 
That  pick'd  the  jewel  out  of  England's  crown, 
With  all  the  cunning  of  an  envious  shrew. 
And  let  that  pass — 'twas  but  a  trick  of  state ! 
A  brave  maji  knows  no  malice,  but  at  once 
Forgets  in  peace  the  injuries  of  war. 
And  gives  his  direst  foe  a  frien'd's  embrace. 
And,  shamed  as  we  have  been,  to  the  very  beard 
Braved  and  defied,  and  in  our  own  sea  proved 
Too  weak  for_ those  decisive  blows,  that  once 
Insured  us  mastery  there,  we  yet  retain  274 


THE    TASK.  ^    .  197 

Some  small  pre-eminence;  we  justly  boast. -::::2;s3SS^" 
At  least  superior  jockeysliip,  and  claim 
The  honors  of  the  turf  as  all  our  own ! 
Go  then,  well  worthy  of  the  praise  ye  seek, 
And  show  the  shame,  ye  might  conceal  at  home, 
In  foreign  eyes ! — he  grooms,  and  win  the  plate, 
AVhere  once  your  nobler  fathers  won  a  crown ! — 
'Tis  generous  to  communicate  your  skill  ,. 

To  those  that  need  it.     Folly  is  soon  learned ;        J^  ^>^^'y 
\  A'^^"'i  ^md^M-  ^^^'A\  piT^^]^t^*T<i  ^y^'o  o'f).n  fnil  ?       .^      284  \y^ 
Ihere  is  a  i)leasure  in  poetic  pains      —     '^ 
Which  only  poets  know.     The  shifts  and  turns, 
The  expedients  and  inventions  multiform. 
To  which  the  mind  resorts,  in  chase  of  terms 
Though  apt,  yet  coy,  and  difficult  to  win — 
To  arrest  the  fleeting  images  that  fill 
The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold  them  fast, 
And  force  them  sit,  till  he  has  pencilFd  olF 
A  faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views ; 
Then  to  dispose  his  copies  with  such  art. 
That  each  may  find  its  most  propitious  light,  295 

And  shine  by  situation,  hardly  less 
Than  by  the  labor  and  the  skill  it  cost — 
Are  occupations  of  the  poet's  mind 
So  pleasing,  and  that  steal  away  the  thought 
With  such  address  frojn  themes  of  sad  import, 
That,  lost  in  his  own  musings,  happy  man! 
He  feels  the  anxieties  of  life,  denied 
Their  wonted  entertainment,  all  retire. 
Such  joys  has  he  that  sings.     But  ah  !  not  such. 
Or  seldom  such,  the  hearers  of  his  song. 
Fastidious,  or  else  listless,  or  perhaps  306 

Aware  of  nothing  arduous  in  a  task 
They  never  undertook,  they  little  note 
His  dangers  or  escapes,  and  haply  find 
Their  least  amusement  where  he  found  the  most. 
But  is  amusement  all  ?     Studious  of  song. 
And  yet  ambitious  not  to  sing  in  vain, 
1  would  not  trifle  merely,  though  the  world 
Be  loudest  in  their  praise  who  do  no  more.  . 

Yet  what  can  satire,  whether  grave  or  gay  ? 
It  may  correct  a  foible,  may  chastise 
The  freaks  of  fashion,  regulate  the  dress,  317 


198  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Retrench  a  sword-blade,  or  displace  a  patch ; 
But  where  are  its  subliiner  trophies  foQnd? 
What  vice  has  it  subdued?  whose  heart  reclaimed 
By  rigor,  or  whom  laughVl  into  reform? 
Alas !  Leviathan  is  not  so  tamed  : 
Laugh'd  at,  he  laughs  again  ;  and,  stricken  hard, 
Turns  to  tlie  stroke  his  adamantine  scales, 
That  fear  no  discipline  of  human  hands. 

"     *  The  pulpit,  therefore  (and  I  name  it  tilFd 

With  solemn  awe,  that  bids  me  well  beware  327 

"With  what  intent  I  touch  tliat  holy  thing) — 

The  pulpit  (when  the  satirist  has  at  last. 

Strutting  and  vaporing  in  an  empty  school, 

Spent  all  his  force,  and  made  no  proselyte)— 

I  say  the  pulpit  (in  the  sober  use 

Of  its  legitimate,  peculiar  powers) 

Must  stand  acknowledged,  while  the  world  shall  stand, 

The^ost  important  and  etTectual  guard, 

»  Support,' and  "Ornament  of  Virtue's  cause. 
Jhere  stands  the  messenger  of  truth.     There  stands 
The  legate  of  the  skies.     His  theme  divine,  •     338 

His  office  sacred,  his  credentials  clear. 
By  him  the  violated  Law  speaks  out 
Its  thunders;  and  by  him,  in  strains  as  sw^eet 
As  angels  use,  the  Gospel  whispers  peace. 
He  stablishes  the  strong,  restores  the  weak, 
Reclaims  the  wanderer,  binds  the  broken  heart, 
And,  arm'd  himself  in  panoply  complete 
Of  heavenly  temper,  furnishes  with  arms 
Bright  as  his  own,  and  trains,  by  every  rule 
Of  holy  discipline,  to  glorious  war. 

The  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect.  349 

Are  all  such  teachers  ?  would  to  Heaven  all  were ! . 
But  hark — the  doctor's  voice! — fast  wedged  between 
Two  empirics  he  stands,  and  with  swoln  cheeks 
Inspires  the  news,  his  trumpet.     Keener  far 
Than  all  invective  is  his  bold  harangue. 
While  through  that  public  organ  of  report 
He  hails  the  clergy ;  and,  defying  shame. 
Announces  to  the  world  his  own  and  theirs. 
He  teaches  those  to  read,  whom  schools  dismissed, 
And  colleges,  untaught ;  sells  accent,  tone. 
And  emphasis  in  score,  and  gives  to  prayer  360 


THE    TASK.  199 

The  adagio  and  andante  it  demands. 

He  grinds  divinity  of  other  days 

.Down  into  modern  use;  transforms  old  print 

To  zig-zag  manuscript,  and  cheats  the  eyes 

Of  gallery  critics  by  a  tliousand  arts. — 

Are  there  who  purcliase  of  tlie  doctor's  ware? 

Oh,  name  it  not  in  Gatli! — it  cannot  be, 

That  grave  and  learned  clerks  shoukl  need  such  aid. 

lie  doubtless  is  in  sport,  and  does  but  droll, 

Assuming  thus  a  rank  unknown  before —  370 

Grand-caterer  and  dry-nurse  of  the  Church  ! 

I  venerate  the  man,  whose  heart  is  warm, 
"Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life, 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause. 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect,  • 

"Whose  actions  say,  that  they  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ; 
rre(pient  in  park,  with  lady  at  his  side,  381 

Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes ; 
But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books. 
Or  with  his  pen,  save  when  he  scrawls  a  card; 
Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 
Of  ladyships,  a  stranger  to  the  poor  ;--^ 
Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold, 
And  well  prepared  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 
By  infidelity  and  love  of  w^orld, 
To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure ;  a  slave 
To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  prrde ; — 
From  such  apostles,  O  ye  mitred  heads,  392 

Preserve  the  Church !  and  lay  not  careless  hands 
On  skulls  tliat  cannot  teach,  and  wnll  not  learn. 

Would  I  describe  a  preacher,  such  as  Paul, 
W^ere  lie  on  earth  would  hear,  approve,  and  own, 
Paul  should  himself  direct  me.     I  would  trace 
His  master-strokes,  and  draw  from  his  design. 
I  would  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere ; 
In  doctrine  uncorrupt;  in  language  plain. 
And  plain  in  manner;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 
And  natural  in  gesture ;  much  impress'd 
Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge,  403 


,/ 


200  cowper's  poetical  works. 


And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 

May  feel  it  too  ;  affectionate  in  look, 

And  tender  in  address,  as  Avell  becomes 

A  messenger  of  grace  to  gnilty  men. 

Behold  the  picture! — Is  it  like? — Like  whom? 

The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip, 

And  then  skip  down  again;  i)ronounce  a  text. 

Cry,  hem!  and  reading  what  they  never  wrote — 

Just  fifteen  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work. 

And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene!  413 

In  man  or  woman,  but  far  most  in  man. 
And  most  of  all  in  man  that  ministers 
And  serves  the  altar,  in  my  soul  I  loatlie 
All  aflfectation.     'Tis  my  perfect  scorn ; 
Olject  of  my  implacable  disgust. 
"What ! — will  a  man  play  tricks,  will  he  indulge 
A  silly  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form 
And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien. 
And  pretty  face,  in  presence  of  his  God? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  dazzle  me  with  tropes. 
As  with  the  diamond  on  his  lily  hand,  42^ 

And  play  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes. 
When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  noble  oflice;  and,  instead  of  truth, 
Displaying  his  own  beauty,  starves  his  flock. 
Therefore,  avaunt  all  attitude  and  stare. 
And  start  theatric,  practised  at  the  glass ! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him 
"Who  handles  things  divine;  and  all  besides. 
Though  learn'd  with  labor,  and  tliough  much  admired 
By  curious  eyes  and  judgments  ill  inform'd,  43( 

To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang 
Heard  at  conventicle,  where  worthy  men. 
Misled  by  custom,  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  press'd  nostril,  spectacle-bestrid. 
Some,  decent  in  demeanor  while  they  preach- 
That  task  perforni'd,  relapse  into  themselves; 
And  navTng  spoken  wisely,  at  the  close 
Grow  wanton,  and  give  proof  to  every  eye — 
AVhoe'er  was  edified,  themselves  Avere  not. 
Forth  comes  the  pocket  mirror.y-First  we  stroke 
An  eyebrow;  next,  compose  a  straggling  lock;  44( 


THE    TASK.  201 

Then  with  an  air,  most  gracefully  perform'd, 

Fall  back  into  our  seat,  extend  an  arm, 

And  lay  it  at  its  ease  with  gentle  care. 

With  handkerchief  in  hand,  depending  low  : 

The  better  hand  more  busy,  gives  the  nose 

Its  bergamot,  or  aids  tlie  indebted  eye, 

"With  opera-glass,  to  watch  the  moving  scene, 

And  recognize  the  slow  retiring  fair. — 

Now  this  is  fulsome,  and  oifends  me  more 

Than  in  a  churchman  slovenly  neglect  456 

And  rustic  coarseness  would.     A  heavenly  mind 

May  be  indifferent  to  her  house  of  clay. 

And  slight  the  hovel  as  beneath  her  care ; 

But  how  a  body  so  ftintastic,  trim. 

And  quaint,  in  its  deportment  and  attire, 

Can  lodge  a  heavenly  mind — demands  a  doubt. 

He  that  negotiates  between  God  and  man, 
As  God's  ambassador,  the  grand  concerns 
Of  judgment  and  of  mercy,  should  beware 
Of  lightness  in  his  speech.     'Tis  pitiful 
To  court  a  grin,  when  you  should  woo  a  soul;  467 

To  break  a  jest,  Avhen  pity  would  inspire 
Pathetic  exhortation ;  and  to  address 
The  skittish  fancy  with  facetious  tales, 
When  sent  with  God's  commission  to  the  heart! 
Sojdid4iot_P.aul.     Direct  me  to  a  quip 
Or  merry  turn  in  all  he  ever  wrote. 
And  I  consent  you  take  it  for  your  text, 
Your  only  one,  till  sides  and  benches  fail. 
No:  he  was  serious  in  a  serious  cause. 
And  understood  too  well  the  weighty  terms 
That  he  had  taken  in  charge.     He  would  not  stoop    478 
To  conquer  those  by  jocular  exploits. 
Whom  truth  and  soberness  assail'd  in  vain. 

O  Popular  Ai)plause !  wliat  heart  of  man 
Is  proof  against  thy  sweet  seducing  charms? 
The  wisest  and  the  best  feel  urgent  need 
Of  all  their  caution  in  thy  gentlest  gales; 
But  sweird  into  a  gust — who  then,  alas! 
With  all  his  canvas  set,  and  inexpert. 
And  therefore  heedless,  can  withstand  thy  power? 
Praise  from  the  rivell'd  lii)s  of  toothless,  bald 
Decrepitude ;  and  in  the  looks  of  lean  489 


202  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  craving  Poverty;  and  in  tlie  bow 

Respectful  of  the  sniutcli'd  artificer, 

Is  oft  too  welcome,  and  may  much  disturb 

The  bias  of  the  purpose.     How  much  more 

Pour'd  forth  by  beauty  splendid  and  polite, 

In  language  soft  as  adoration  breatlies  ? 

Ah,  spare  your  idol !  think  him  human  still. 

Charms  he  may  have,  but  he  has  frailties  too: 

Dote  not  too  much,  nor  spoil  Avhat  ye  admire. 

All  truth  is  from  the  sempiternal  source  499 

Of  light  divine.     But  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome  I 

Drew  from  the  stream  below.     More  favorVl,  we  i 

Drink,  when  we  choose  it,^at  the  fountain-head. 

To  them  it  flow'd  much  mingled  and  defiled 

AVith  hurtful  error,  prejudice,  and  dreams 

Illusiv^e  of  philosophy,  so  calTd, 
''    But  falsely.     Sages  after  sages  strove 

In  vain  to  filter  off  a  crystal  draught 

Pure  from  the  lees,  which  often  more  enhanced 

The  thirst  than  slaked  it,  and  not  seldom  bred 

Intoxication  and  delirium  wild.  510 

In  vain  tliey  push'd  inquiry  to  the  birth 

And  spring-time  of  the  world;  ask'd,  Whence  is  man? 

Why  form'd  at  all?  and  wherefore  a^  lie  is? 

Where  must  he  find  his  Maker?  Avith  Avhat  rites 

Adore  llim?  will  He  hear,  accept,  and  bless? 

Or  does  He  sit  regardless  of  his  works  ? 

Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed? 

Or  does  the  tomb  take  all  ?     H*  he  survive 

His  ashes,  where?  and  in  what  weal  or  woe? 

Knots  worthy  of  solution,  Avhicli  alone 

A  Deity  could  solve.     Their  answers,  vague  521 

And  all  at  random,  fabulous  and  dark, 

Left  them  as  dark  themselves.     Tli.eir  rules  of  life, 

Defective  and  unsanction'd,^ proved  too  weak 

To  bind  the  roving  a*j:)petite,  and  lead 

Blind  Nature  to  a  God  not  yet  reveal'd. 
s.  'Tis  Revelation  satisfies  all  doubts. 

Explains  all  mysteries,  except  her  own, 

And  so  illuminates  tlie  path  of  life. 

That  fools  discover  it,  and  stray  no  more. 

Now  tell  me,  dignified  and  sapient  sir. 

My  man  of  morals,  nurtured  in  the  shades  532 


THE    TASK.  203 

Of  Academus — is  tins  false  or  true? 

Is  Christ  the  abler  teacher,  or  the  schools? 

If  Christ,  then  why  resort  at  every  turn 

To  Athens  or  to  Rome,  for  wisdom  short 

Of  man's  occasions,  when  in  Him  reside 

Grace,  knowledge,  comfort — an  iinfathomM  store? 

How  oft,  when  Paul  lias  served  us  with  a  text, 

Has  E[)ictetus,  Plato,  Tully,  ])reachVl ! 

Men  that,  if  now  alive,  would  sit  content 

And  humble  learners  of  a  Saviour's  worth,  542 

Preach  it  who  might.     Such  was  their  love  of  truth, 

Their  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  their  candor  too! 

And  thus  it  is. — The  i)astx^r,~eitherTain 
By  nature,  or  by  tlattery  made  so,  taught 
To  gaze  at  his  own  s[)lendor,  and  to  exalt 
Absurdly,  not  his  office,  but  himself; 
Or  unenlightened,  and  too  proud  to  learn ; 
Or  vicious,  and  not  therefore  apt  to  teach ; 
Perverting  often  by  the  stress  of  lewd 
And  loose  example,  whom  he  should  instruct; 
Exposes,  and  holds  uf)  to  broad  disgrace,  553 

The  noblest  function,  and  discredits  much 
The  brightest  truths  tliat  man  has  ever  seen. 
For  ghostly  counsel,  if  it  either  fall 
Below  the  exigence,  or  be  not  backVl 
"With  show  of  love,  at  least  with  hopeful  proof 
Of  some  sincerity  on  the  giver's  part; 
Or  be  dishonor'd  in  the  exterior  form 
And  mode  of  its  conveyance  by  such  tricks 
^s  move  derision,  or  by  foppish  airs 
And  histrionic  mummery,  that  let  dow^n 
The  pulpit  to  the  level  of  the  stage —  664: 

Drops  from  the  lips  a  disregarded  thing. 
The  w^eak  perhaps  are  moved,  but  are  not  taught;      •. 
While  prejudice  in  men  of  stronger  minds 
Takes  deeper  root,  contirined  by  what  they  see. 
A  relaxation  of  religion's  hold 
Upon  the  roving  and  untutor'd  heart 
Soon  follows,  and,  the  curb  of  conscience  snai)p'd, 
The  laity  run  wild. — But  do  they  now? 
Note  their  extravagance,  and  be  convinced. 

As  nations,  ignorant  of  God,  contrive 
A  wooden  one,  so  we,  no  longer  taught  575 


204  cowper's  poetical  works. 

By  monitors  that  mother  Church  supplies, 
Now  make  our  own.     Posterity  will  ask 
(If  fe^er  posterity  see  verse  of  mine), 
Some  fifty  or  a  hundred  lustrums  hence, 
What  was  a  monitor  in  George's  days? 
My  very  gentle  reader,  yet  unborn. 
Of  wliom  I  needs  must  augur  better  things, 
Since  Heaven  would  sure  grow  weary  of  a  world 
Productive  only  of  a  race  like  ours, 
A  monitor  is  wood — plank  shaven  tliin.  585 

We  wear  it  at  our  backs.     Tbere,  closely  braced 
And  neatly  fitted,  it  compresses  hard 
The  prominent  and  most  unsightly  bones, 
And  binds  the  shoulders  flat.     We  prove  its  use 
Sovereign  and  most  eflfectual  to  secure 
A  form,  not  now  gymnastic  as  of  yore. 
From  rickets  and  distortion,  else  our  lot. 
But  thus  admonisird,  we  can  walk  erect — 
One  proof  at  least  of  manhood!  while  the  friend 
Sticks  close,  a  Mentor  worthy  of  his  charge. 
Our  habits,  costlier  than  Lucullus  wore,  596 

And  by  caprice  as  multiplied  as  his. 
Just  please  us  while  the  fashion  is  at  full, 
But  change  with  every  moon.     The  sycophant, 
Who  waits  to  dress  us,  arbitrates  their  date; 
Surveys  his  fair  reversion  with  keen  eye;   . 
Finds  one  ill  made,  another  obsolete, 
This  fits  not  nicely,  that  is  ill  conceived ; 
And,  making  prize  of  all  that  he  condemns, 
With  our  expenditure,  defrays  his  own. 
*  Variety's  the  very  spice  of  life. 

That  gives  it  all  its  flavor.  ^  We  have  run  ^^^^l 

Through  every  change  that  Fancy,  at  the  loom 
Exhausted,  has  had  genius  to  supply ; 
And,  studious  of  mutation  still,  discard 
A  real  elegance,  a  little  used. 
For  monstrous  novelty  and  strange  disguise. 
We  sacrifice  to  dress,  till  household  joys 
And  comforts  cease.     Dress  drains  our  cellar  dry, 
And  keeps  our  larder  lean  ;  puts  out  our  fires, 
And  introduces  hunger,  frost,  and  woe, 
AYhere  peace  and  hospitality  might  reign. 
What  man  that  lives,  and  that  knows  how  to  live,     61? 


THE    TASK.  205 

Would  fail  to  exhibit  at  tlie  public  shows 
A  form  as  si)lenclid  as  the  proudest  there, 
Though  appetite  raise  outcries  at  the  cost? 
A  man  o'  the  town  dines  late,  but  soon  enough, 
"With  reasonable  forecast  and  dispatch, 
To  insure  a  side-box  station  at  half-price. 
You  think,  perhaps,  so  delicate  his  dress, 
His  daily  fore  as  delicate.     Alas! 
He  picks  clean  teeth,  and,  busy  as  he  seems 
"VYith  an  old  tavern  quill,  is  hungry  yet.  628 

The  rout  is  Folly's  circle,  which  she  draws 
"With  magic  wand.     So  potent  is  the  spell, 
That  none,  decoy 'd  into  that  fatal  ring. 
Unless  by  Heaven's  peculiar  grace,  escape. 
There  we  grow  early  gray,  but  never  wise ; 
There  form  connections,  but  acquire  no  friend; 
Solicit  pleasure,  hopeless  of  success ; 
Waste  youth  in  occupations  only  tit 
For  second  childhood;  and  devote  old  age 
To  sports  which  only  childhood  could  excuse. 
There  they  are  happiest  who  dissemble  best  639 

Their  weariness ;.  and  they  the  most  polite 
Who  squander  time  and  treasure  with  a  smile. 
Though  at  their  own  destruction.     She  that  asks 
Her  dear  five  hundred  friends,  contemns  them  all. 
And  hates  their  coming.     They  (what  can  they  less  ?) 
Make  just  reprisals;  and,  with  cringe  and  shrug, 
And  bow  obsequious,  hide  their  hate  of  her. 
All  catch  the  frenz}',  downward  from  lier  Grace, 
Whose  flambeaux  flash  against  the  morning  skies, 
And  gild  our  chamber  ceilings  as  they  pass, 
To  her,  who,  frugal  only  that  her  thrift  650 

May  feed  excesses  slie  can  ill  aflford. 
Is  hackney'd  home  unlackey'd, — who,  in  haste 
Alighting,  turns  the  key  in  her  own  door. 
And,  at  the  watchman's  lantern  borrowing  light. 
Finds  a  cold  bed  her  only  comfort  left. 
Wives  beggar  husbands,  husbands  starve  their  wives;  ^ 
On  Fortune's  velvet  altar  offering  up 
Their  last  poor  pittance, — Fortune,  most  severe 
Of  goddesses  yet  known,  and  costlier  far 
Than  all  that  held  their  routs  in  Juno's  heaven. — 
So  fare  we  in  this  prison-iiouse,  the  World.  6G1 

18 


"^f 


206  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  'tis  a  fearful  spectacle  to  see 
So  many  maniacs  dancing  in  their  chains. 
Tliey  gaze  upon  the  links  that  hold  tliem  fast 
"With  eyes  of  anguish,  execrate  their  lot, 
Then  shake  them  in  despair,  and  dance  again ! 

Now  basket  up  tlie  family  of  plagues 
That  waste  our  vitals ; — peculation,  sale 
Of  honor,  perjury,  corruption,  frauds 
By  forgery,  by  subterfuge  of  law, 

By  tricks  and  lies  as  numerous  and  as  keen  G71 

As  the  necessities  their  authors  feel ; 
Then  cast  them,  closely  bundled,  every  brat 
At  the  right  door.     Profusion  is  the  lire. 
Profusion  unrestrain'd,  with  all  that's  base 
In  character,  has  litterVl  all  the  land. 
And  bred,  within  the  memory  of  no  few, 
A  priesthood  such  as  BaaPs  was  of  old, 
A  people  such  as  never  was  till  now. 
It  is  a  hungry  vice  : — it  eats  up  all 
That  gives  society  its  beauty,  strength, 
Convenience,  and  security,  and  use  ;  682 

Makes  men  mere  vermin,  worthy  to  be  trapped 
And  gibbeted,  as  fast  as  catchpole  claws 
Can  seize  the  slippery  prey  :  unties  the  knot 
Of  union,  and  converts  the  sacred  band 
That  holds  mankind  togethe'r,  to  a  scourge. 
Profusion,  deluging  a  state  with  lusts 
Of  grossest  nature  and  of  worst  effects, 
Prepares  it  for  its  ruin  :  hardens,  blinds, 
And  warps  the  consciences  of  public  men, 
Till  they  can  laugh  at  Virtue ;  mock  the  fools 
That  trust  them  ;  and,  in  the  end,  disclose  a  face         693 
That  would  have  shock'd  Credulity  herself, 
Unmask'd,  vouchsafing  this  their  sole  excuse — 
Since  all  alike  are  selfish,  why  not  they  ? 
)This  does  Profusion,  and  the  accursed  cause 
yOf  such  deep  mischief  has  itself  a  cause. 

In  colleges  and  halls  in  ancient  days. 
When  learning,  virtue,  piety,  and  truth 
"Were  precious,  and  inculcated  with  care, 
There  dwelt  a  sage  call'd  Discipline.     His  head, 
Not  yet  by  time  completely  silver'd  o'er, 
Bespoke  him  past  the  bounds  of  freakish  youth,  70- 


THE    TASK.  207 

J3ut  strong  for  service  still,  and  unimpaired. 

His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 

Play'd  on  his  lips,  and  in  Ids  speech  was  heard 

Paternal  sweetness,  dignity,  and  love. 

The  occupation  dearest  to  Jiis  heart  , 

"Was  to  encourage  goodness.     He  would  stroke 

The  head  of  modest  and  ingenuous  worth, 

Tliat  blush'd  at  his  own  praise  ;  and  press  the  youth 

Close  to  his  side  that  pleased  him.     Learning  grew 

Beneath  his  care  a  thriving  vigorous  plant ;  714 

The  mind  w^as  w^ell  inform'd,  the  passions  held 

Subordinate,  and  diligence  was  choice. 

If  e'er  it  chanced,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must, 

That  one  among  so  many  overleap'd 

The  limits  of  control,  his  gentle  eye 

Grew  stern,  and  darted  a  severe  rebuke ; 

His  frown  Avas  full  of  terror,  and  his  voice 

Shook  the  delinquent  wnth  such  fits  of  awe, 

As  left  him  not,  till  penitence  had  w^on 

Lost  favor  back  again,  and  closed  the  breach. 

But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long,  •725 

Declined  at  length  into  the  vale  of  years  ; 

A  palsy  struck  his  arm;  his  sparkling  eye 

Was  quench'd  in  rheums  of  age ;  his  voice,  unstrung, 

Grew  tremulous,  and  moved  derision  more 

Than  reverence,  in  perverse  rebellious  youth. 

So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 

Their  good  old  friend  ;  and  Discipline  at  length 

O'erlook'd  and  unemploy'd,  fell  sick'  and  died.       • 

Then  Study  languished,  Enmlation  slept. 

And  Virtue  lied.     The  schools  became  a  scene 

Of  solemn  farce,  wdiere  Ignorance  in  stilts,  736 

His  cap.  well  lined  with  logic  not  his  own, 

"With  parrot  tongue  performed  the  scholar's  part,    f 

Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 

Then  Coxnpromise  had  place,  and  Scrutiny 

Became  stone  blind;  Precedence  wentTnTtruck,     ^ 

And  he  was  competent  Avhose  purse  was  so. 

A  dissolution  of  all  bonds  ensued  ; 

The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  mouth 

Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken  ;  bars  and  bolts 

Grew  rusty  by  disuse ;  and  massy  gates 

Forgot  their  office,  opening  with  a  touch  ;  747 


208  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Till  gowns  at  length  are  found  mere  masquerade ; 
The  tasseird  cap  and  the  spruce  band  a  jest, 
A  mockery  of  the  world  !     What  need  of  these 
For  gamesters,  jockeys,  brothellers  impure, 
{Spendthrifts,  and  booted  sportsmen,  oftener  seen 
With. belted  waist,  and  pointers  at  their  lieels, 
Than  in  the  bounds  of  duty  ?     What  was  learned, 
If  aught  was  learn'd  in  childhood,  is  forgot; 
And  such  expense  as  pinches  parents  blue, 
And  mortifies  the  liberal  hand  of  love, 
Is  squander'd  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 
And  vicious  pleasures ;  buys  the  boy  a  name, 
That  sits  a  stigma  on  his  father^s  house. 
And  cleaves  through  life  inseparably  close 
To  him  that  wears  it.     What  can  after-games 
Of  riper  joys,  and  commerce  with  the  world, 
The  lewd  vain  Avorld,  tliat  must  receive  him  soon, 
Add  to  such  erudition,  thus  acquired, 
Where  science  and  where  virtue  are  professed? 
They  may  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 
Hii^  folly,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  task 
That  bids  defiance  to  the  united  powers 
Of  fashion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews. 
Now,  blame  we  most  the  nurslings  or  the  nurse? 
The  children  crookM,  and  twisted,  and  deform'd, 
Through  want  of  care;  or  her,  whose  winking  eye 
And  slumbering  oscitancy  mars  the  brood? 
The  nurse,  no  doubt.     Regardless  of  her  charge, 
She  needs  herself  correction ;  needs  to  learn 
That  it  is  dangerous  sporting  Avith  the  world, 
With  things  so  sacred  as  a  nation's  trust. 
The  nurture  of  her  youth,  her  dearest  pledge. 
All  are  not  such.    I  had  a  brother  once — 
Peace  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  worth, 
A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners  too  ! 
Of  manners  sweet  as  Virtue  always  wears, 
When  gay  Good-nature  dresses  lier  in  smiles, 
lie  graced  a  college,^  in  which  order  yet 
W\as  sacred  ;  and  was  honor'd,  loved,  and  wept, 
By  more  than  one,  themselves  conspicuous  there. 
Some  minds  are  temper'd  happily,  and  mixM 
With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense  and  taste 
J  Bene't  College,  Cambridge. 


THE    TASK.  209 

Of  what  is  excellent  in  man;  they  thirst 

With  such  a  zeal  to  be  Avliat  they  approve, 

That  no  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 

Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  Avisdom's  sake. 

Nor  can  example  hurt  them ;  \vhat  they  see 

Of  vice  in  others  but  enhancing  more  i 

The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem. 

If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 

Pure  from  so  foul  a  ])Ool  to  shine  abroad. 

And  give  the  world  their  talents  and  themselves —     799 

Small  thanks  to  those  whose  negligence  or  sloth 

Exposed  their  inex[)erience  to  tlie  snare, 

And  left  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 

See  then  the  quiver  broken  and  decayed, 
In  w^hich  are  kept  our  arrows!    Rusting  there 
In  wild  disorder,  and  unfit  for  use, 
What  w^onder  if,  discharged  into  the  world, 
They  shame  their  shooters  with  a  random  flight, 
Their  points  obtuse,  and  feathers  drunk  with  wine ! 
Well  may  the  Church  wage  unsuccessful  war. 
With  such  artillery  arm'd.    Vice  parries  Avide  810 

The  undreaded  volley  with  a  sword  of  straw. 
And  stands  an  impudent  and  fearless  mark. 

Have  we  not  track'd  the  felon  home,  and  found 
His  birthplace  and  his  dam?    The  country  mourns, 
Mourns,  because  every  plague  tliat  can  infest 
Society,  and  that  saps  and  worms  the  base 
Of  the  edifice  that  Policy  has  raised, 
Swarms  in  all  quarters ;  meets  the  eye,  the  ear ; 
And  sufibcates  the  breath  at  every  turn. 
Profusion  breeds  them  ;  and  the  cause  itself 
Of  tharcalanittouslnischief  has  been  found —  821 

Found  too  where  most  offensive,  in  the  skirts 
Of  the  robed  i)edagogue !    Else  let  the  arraigned 
Stand  up  unconscious,  and  refute  the  charge. 
So  when  the  Jewish  leader  stretch'd  his  arm, 
And  waved  his  rod  divine,  a  race  obscene, 
Spawn'd  in  the  muddy  beds  of  Nile,  came  forth, 
Polluting  Egypt:  gardens,  fields,  and  plains, 
AVere  cover'd  with  the  pest;  the  streets  were  filPd; 
The  croaking  nuisance  lurk'd  in  every  nook; 
Nor  palaces,  nor  even  chambers,  'scaped ; 
And  the  land  stank — so  numerous  was  the  fry. 


BOOK  III.-TIIE  GARDEI^. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Self-recollection  und  reproof,  l^-Address  to  domestic  happines?,  41— Some  account 
of  riiyself,  108— The  vanity  of  many  of  their  pursuits  who  are  reputed  wise,  124— 
Justitication  of  ray  censures,  191— Divine  illumination  necessary  to  the  most  ex- 
pert philosopher,  221— The  question,  What  is  truth?  answered  by  other  questions, 
261— Domestic  happiness  addressed  again,  290— Few  lovers  Ot  the  country,  293— 
My  tame  hare,  334— Occupations  of  a  retired  gentleman  in  his  garden,  352— Prun- 
ing, 408— Framing,  435— Raising  the  cucumber,  446— Greenhouse,  566 — Sowing  of 
flower  seed,  624— The  country  preferable  to  the  town,  even  in  the  winter,  675— 
Reasons  why  it  is  deserted  at  that  season,  728— Ruinous  eflfects  of  gaming  and  of 
expensive  improvements,  760— Book  concludes  with  au  apostrophe  to  the  metrop- 
olis, 811. 

As  one  Avho,  long  in  thickets  and  in  brakes 

Entangled,  winds  now  this  way  and  now  that 

His  devious  course  uncertain,  seeking  home ; 

Or,  having  long  in  miry  ways  been  foiPd, 

And  sore  discomfited,  from  slough  to  slo-igh 

Plunging,  and  half  despairing  of  escape ; 

If  chance  at  length  he  find  a  greensward  smooth 

And  faithful  to  the  foot,  his  spirits  rise. 

He  cherups  brisk  his  ear-erectnig  steed,  9 

And  winds  liis  Avay  witli  pleasure  and  with  ease  ; 

80  T,  (lesi[min<r  otiipr  thpino>;,  nnd  ri\]V^] 
To  adorn  the  Sofa  wntli  eu1^>^>'!nn-|  fln^^ 
JToTell  its  slumbers,  and  to  ^aint  its  dreams, 

^Ilave  rambled  Avidp^  In  coimtry,  city,  seat* 

Of  acadeimc  fame  (howe'er  deserved). 

Long  held,  and  scarcely  disengaged  at  last. 

But  now  with  pleasant  pace,  a  cleanlier  road 

I  mean  to  tread.    I  feel  myself  at  large. 

Courageous,  and  refresh'd  for  future  toil, 

If  toil  await  me,  or  if  dangers  new.  20 


V 


THE   TASK.  211 

Sjj3.ce  puluitsjai],  find  sonnding-bonrds  reflect 
Most  patt  an  empty  ineffectual  sound, 
AVhat  cliance  tliat  I,  to  fame  so  little  known, 
Nor  conversant  with  men  or  manners  much, 
Slioiild  speak  to  purpose,  or  with  better  hope 
Crack  the  satiric  thong?    'Twere  wiser  far 
For  me,  enamorVl  cf  seqnester'd  scenes, 
And  chai-m^d  with  rural  beauty,  to  repose, 
Where  chance  may  throw  me^  beneath  elm  or  vine, 
My^languidlimbs.  whorL-samnnpr  sp^^v^^a  plm'ng-         ^?j.Vvt*uv.  • 
Oi^  wherTrbugh  winter  rages,  on  the  soft    •  -  t  v-vc^^j,     J-^^^    "^^ 
And  slieflerVl  Soia^  while  the  nitrous  air 
Teeds  a  blue  flame,  and  makes  a  cheerful  hearth ; 
There,  undisturbed  by  Folly,  and  apprised 
How  great  the  danger  of  disturbing  her, 
To  muse  in  silence,  or  at  least  confine 
Remarks  that  gall  so  many,  to  the  few, 
My  partners  in  retreat.     Disgust  conceaPd       I 
Is  ofttimes  proof  of  wisdom,  when  the  fault     / 
Is  obstinate,  and  cure  beyond  our  reach.  /  / 

liUPS^c,Jla£|iin^s,  thou  only  blis^ '  ""  -  41 

Of  Pai-adise ^tkaiJias^sur vi ved  tl te  fall ! 
Though  few  now  taste  tliee  unimpairVl  and  pure, 
Or  tasting,  long  enjoy  thee!,  too  infirm. 
Or  too  incautious,  to  preserve  thy  SAveets 
Unmix'd  with  drops  of  bitter,  which  neglect 
Or  temper  sheds  into  thy  crystal  cup : 
Thou  art  the  nurse  oLXii±Li£.     In  thine  arms 
She  smiT^,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 
Heaven-born,  and  destined  to  tlie  skies  again. 
Thou  art  not  known  where  Pleasure  is  adored, 
That  reeling  goddess  with  the  zoneless  waist  52 

And  wandering  eyes,  still  leaning  on  the  arm 
Of  Spvelty,  tier  fickle,  fj^^il^JujlIKiliL 
For  thoif  "art  meeTTandT  constant,  hatmg  change, 
And  finding  in  the  calm  of  truth-tried  love 
Joys  that  her  stormy  raptures  never  yield. 
Forsaking  thee,  what  shipwreck  have  we  made 
Of  honor,  dignity,  and  fiur  renown! 
Till  prostitution  elbows  us  aside 
In  all  our  crowded  streets ;  and  senates  seeBi 
Convened  for  purposes  of  empire  less 
Than  to  release  the  adulteress  from  her  bond.  C3 


212  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  adulteress !  what  a  theme  for  angry  verse ! 

AVhat  provocation  to  the  indignant  heart, 

That  feels  for  injured  love  !  hut  I  disdain 

The  nauseous  task  to  paint  her  as  she  is — 

Cruel,  abandon 'd,  glorying  in  her  shame  ! 

No :  let  her  pass,  and  charioted  along 

In  guilty  splendor,  sliake  the  public  ways ! 

The  frequency  of  crimes  has  washed  tliem  white, 

And  verse  of  mine  shall  never  brand  the  w^ret^h. 

"Whom  matrons  now,  of  character  unsmirch'd, 

And  chaste  themselves,  are  not  ashamed  to  own. 

Virtue  and  vice  had  boundaries  in  old  time^  ^ 

Not  to  be  pass'd  :  and  she  that  had  renounced 

Her  sex's  honor,  was  renounced  herself 

By  all  that  prized  if;  not  for  prudery's  sake, 

But  ^nityX-.resentful  of  the  wrong. 

'Twas  hard  perliaps  on  here  and  there  a  waif, 

Desirous  to  return,  and  not  received; 

But  was  a  wholesome  rigor  in  the  main. 

And  taught  the  unblemish'd  to  preserve  with  care 

That  puritj:,  wliose  loss  w^as  loss  of  all.  84 

Men  too  were  nice  in  honor  in  those  days. 

And  judged  offenders  well.     And  he  that  sharp'd, 

And  pocketed  a  prize  by  fraud  obtained. 

Was  mark'd  and  shunn'd  as  odious.     He  that  sold 

His  country,  or  was  slack  wlien  she  required 

His  every  nerve  in  action  and  at  stretcli. 

Paid,  w^ith  the  blood  that  he  had  basely  spared, 

The  price  of  his  default.     But  now,  yes,  now, 

We  are  become  so  candid  and  so  fair. 

So  liberal  in  construction,  and  so  rich 

In  Christian  charity,  a  good-natured  age !  95 

Thnt  thpy  nvf^  sfifc^  sinnors  f^f  ^itliPf  spjjt^ 

Transgress  what  laws  they  may.     Well  dress VI,  well  bred, 

well  equipaged,  is  ticket  good  enough 

To  pass  us  readily  through  every  door. 

Hypocrisy,  detest  her  as  we  may 

(And  no  man's  hatred  ever  wrong'd  her  yet), 

May  claim  this  merit  still,  that  she  admits 

The  worth  of  what  she  mimics  with  such  care, 

And  thus  gives  virtue  indirect  applause  ; 

But  she  has  burnt  her  mask,  not  needed  here, 

Where  vice  has  such  allowance,  that  her  shifts  106 


f 


H 


THE    TASK.  213 

And  specious  semblances  have  lost  their  nse./ 

— I  was  a  strickerLile£r<i  that  left  the  herd 

Long  since ;  with  many  an  arrow  deep  infix'd 

My  pantmg  side  was  charged,  when  I  withdreiiv, 

To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades.  *• 

There  was  I  found  by  one  who  had  himself 

Been  hurt  by  the  archers.     In  his  side  he  bore, 

And  in  his  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 

With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts. 

He  drew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  live.     116 

Since  then,  with  few  associates,  in  remote 

And  silent  woods  I  wander,  far  from  those 

My  former  partners  of  the  peopled  scene ; 

With  few  associates,  and  not  wishing  more. 

Here  much  I  ruminate,  as  much  I  may, 

W^ith  other  views  of  men  and  manners  now  7 

Than  once,  and  others  of  a  life  to  come.        f 

I_.s^e-lhat  all  are  wandm:£4--g^g-aQe.,iistray 

Eachinjiisown^  thej^^je  Jgst 

In  cliasilQ£^ncie2Iha42pI5§s^ still  jwoDLii 

.Ci3  never  won.     Dream  aftei'^d'ream  ensues ; '  127" 

A ncTsTiirtri ey" d ream  that  they  shall  still  succeed; 

And  still  are  disappointed.     Rings  the  world 

With  the  vain  stir.     I  sum  up  half  mankind,  1 

And  add  two-thirds  of  the  remaining  half,      j 

And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fears     ] 

Dreams,  empty  dreams.     The  million  flit  as  gay 

As  if  created  only  like  the  fly. 

That  spreads  liis  motley  wings  in  the  eye  of  noon, 

To  sport  their  season,  and  be  seen  no  more. 

"^llfJU^nre  .'^oher  dronmrvr!)  '^rnvo  nnd  wino, 

And  pregnant  with  discoveries  new  and  rare.  138 

Some  write  a  narrative  of  Avars,  and  feats 

Of  heroes  little  known ;  and  call  the  rant 

A  history:  describe  the  man,  of  whom 

His  own  coevals  took  but  little  note; 

And  paint  his  person,  character  and  views, 

As  they  had  known  him  from  his  mother's  womb. 

They  disentangle  from  the  puzzled  skein. 

In  which  obscurity  has  wra])p'd  them  up. 

The  threads  of  ])olitic  and  shrewd  design. 

That  ran  through  all  his  purposes,  and  charge 

His  mind  with  meanings  that  he  never  had,  149 


214  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  having,  kept  conceal'd.     Some  drill  and  bore 

'.The  solid  earth,  and  from  the  strata  there 

u  Extract  a  register,  by  whicli  we  learn 

HThat  He  who  made  it,  and  reveal'd  its  date 

llTo  Moses,  was  mistaken  in  its  age. 
jSome  more  acute,  and  more  industrious  still, 
IContrive  creation ;  travel  nature  up 
To  the  sharp  peak  of  her  sublimest  height, 
And  tell  us  whence  the  stars  ;  why  some  are  fix'd, 
And  planetary  some ;  what  gave  them  first  159 

N^  Rotation,  from  whjit  fountain  flow'd  their  light. 

*  Great  contest  follows,  and  much  learned  dust 
Involves  the  combatants  ;  each  claiming  truth, 
And  truth  disclaiming  both.     And  thus  thej^  spend 
The  little  wick  of  life's  poor  shallow  lamp 
In  playing  tricks  with  nature,  giving  laws 
To  distant  worlds,  and  trifling  in  their  own. 
Is't  not  a  pity  now,  that  tickling  rheums 
Should  ever  tease  the  lungs  and  blear  the  sight 
Of  oracles  like  these  ?     Great  pity  too. 
That,  having  wielded  the  elements,  and  built  170 

A  thousand  systems,  each  in  his  own  way. 
They  should  go  out  in  fume  and  be  forgot  ? 
Ah !  what  is  life  thus  spent  ?  and  what  are  they 
But  frantic  who  thus  spend  it  ?  all  f^r  smoke — 
Eternity  for  bubbles,  proves  at  last 
A  senseless  bargain.     When  I  see  such  games 
Play'd  by  the  creatures  of  a  Power  who  swears 
That  he  will  judge  the  earth,  and  call  the  fool 
To  a  sharp  reckoning  that  has  lived  in  vain ; 
And  when  I  weigh  this  seeming  wisdom  well, 
And  prove  it  in  the  infallible  result  181 

So  hojla-w  and.so-4alag:;;^I  feel  my  heart 
Dissot?e  inj^Uyy-and  account  the  learned, 
If  this  be  learning,  most  of  allTIecelved. 
J  Great  crimes  alarm  llie  uuijyclei'ioe,  buFit  sleeps 
While  thoughtful  man  is  plausibly  amused. 
Defend  me  therefore,  common  sense,  say  I, 
From  reveries  so  airy,  from  the  toil 
Of  .dropping  buckets  into  empty  Avells,        , 
And  growing  old  in  drawing  nothing  up  !  [   ^ 
''Twere  well,  says  one  sage  erudite,  profound, 
Terribly  arch'd  and- aquiline  his  nose,  192 


THE    TASK.  215 

And  overbuilt  with  roost  impending  brows —     | 

'Twere  well,  could  you  permit  the  world  to  live 

As  the  world  pleases:  what's  the  world  to  you?— 

Much.     I  was  born  of  woman,  and  drew  milk, 

As  sweet  as  charity,  from  human  breasts. 

I  think,  articulate,  I  laugh  and  weep, 

And  exercise  all  functions  of  a  man. 

How  then  should  I  and  any  man  that  lives 

Be  strangers  to  each  other  ?     Pierce  my  vein, 

Take  of  the  crimson  stream  meandering  there,  202 

And  catechise  it  well ;  apply  your  glass,    . 

Search  it,  f*nd  prove  now  if  it  be  not  blood 

Congenial  with  tliine  o^yn :  and,  if  it  be, 

What  edge  of  subtlety  canst  thou  suppose 

Keen  enough,  wise  and  skilful  as  thou  art, 

To  cut  the  link  of  brotherhood,  by  which 

One  common  Maker  bound  me  to  the  kind  ? 

True ;  I  am  no  proficient,  I  confess. 

In  arts  like  yours.     I  cannot  call  the  swift 

And  perilous  lightnings  from  the  angry  clouds. 

And  bid  them  hide  themselves  in  earth  beneath;        213 

I  cannot  analyze  the  air,  nor  catch 

The  parallax  of  yonder  luminous  point 

That  seems  half  quench'd  in  the  immense  abyss: 

Such  powers  I  boast  not — neither  can  I  rest 

A  silent  witness  of  the  headlong  rage 

Or  heedless  folly  by  which  thousands  die. 

Bone  of  my  bone,  and  kindred  souls  to  mine^i 

God  never  meant  that  nian  should  scale  the  heaven^ 
By  strides  of  human  wisdom — in  his  works, 
ThcTugh  wondrous;  He  commands  us  in  his  Word 
To  seek  him  rather,  where  his  mercy  shines.  224 

The  mind  indeed,  enlightenVl  from  above. 
Views  him  in  all ;  ascribes  to  the  grand  cause 
The  grand  effect;  acknowledges  with  joy 
His  manner,  and  with  rapture  tastes  his  style. 
But  never  yet  did  philosophic  tube. 
That  brings  the  planets  home  into  the  eye 
Of  Observation,  and  discovers,  else 
Not  visible,  his  tamily  of  worlds, 
Discover  Him  that  rules  them:  such  a  veil 
Hangs  over  mortal  eyes,  blind  from  the  birth, 
And  dark  in  things  divine.     Full  often  too  235 


216  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  0»¥~wftywaiHl  intellect,  the  more  we  learn 
I  Of  nature;  overlooks  her  Author  mo|^" 
'  From  instrumental  causes  proud  to  draw 
Conclusions  retrograde,  and  mad  mistake. 
But  if  his  Word  once  teach  us,  shoot  a  ray     • 
Through  all  the  heart's  dark  chambers,  and  i-everJ 
Truths  nndiscern'd  but  by  that  holy  light. 
Then  all  is  plain.     Philosophy,  baptized 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love. 
Has  eyes  indeed ;  and,  viewing  all  she  sees 
As  meant  to  indicate  a  God  to  man. 
Gives  Jlim  his  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 
Learning  has  borne  such  fruit  in  other  days 
On  all  her  branches  :  piety  has  found 
Friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  and  true  prayer 
Has  flow'd  from  lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews. 
Such  was  thy  wisdom,.^]^wton,  Nchildlike  sage ! 
Sagacious  reader  of  the  worKs  of  God, 
!  And  in  his  Word  sagacious.     Such  too  thine, 
I  Milton,. whose  genius  had  angelic  wings, 
jAnd  fed  on  manna.     And  such  thine,  in  whom 
fOur  British  Themis  gloried  witii  just  cause. 
Immortal  Hale !  for  deep  discernment  praised, 
And  sound  integrity,  not  more  than  famed 
^'^For  sanctity  of  manners  undefiled.  / 
"•^ly  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  itsj,lory  fades 

-^^       Like  the  fair  flower  disheveircf'in  the  wind ; 
Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  js  a  dream,; 
The  man  we  celebrate  must  And  a  torali). 
And  we  that  worship  him,  ignoLle  graves. 
Kothing  is  proof  against  the  general  curse 
Of  vanity,  that  seizes  all  below. 
The  only  amaranthine  flower  on  earth 
V    Is  virtue;  the  only  lasting  treasure,  truth.  * 
But  what  is  truth  ?     'Twas  Pilate's  question  put 
To  Truth  itself,  that  deign'd  him  no  reply. 
And  wherefore  ?  will  not  God  impart  his  light 
To  them  that  ask  it  ^     iFrrrly     'tir  hii  jny. 
His  glory,  and  his  nature  to  impart  : 
But  to  the  proud,  uncandid,  insincere, 
Or  negligent  inquirer,  not  a  spark. 
AYhat's  that  which  brings  contempt  upon  a  book. 
And  him  who  writes  it,  though  the  style  be  neat, 


THE    TASK.  217 

The  method  clear,  and  argument  exact  ?-"- 

That  makes  a  minister  in  holy  things 

The  joy  of  many,  and  the  dread  of  more, 

liis  name  a  theme  for  praise  and  for  reproach? — 

That,  while  it  gives  us  worth  in  God's  account, 

Ikpreciates  and  undoe_s^usjlL  o^^^  <^wn  ? 


"What  pearl  is  it  tBafrich  men  cannot  buy, 

That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  up ; 

But  which  the  poor,  and  the  despised  of  all, 

Seek  and  obtain,  and  often  find  unsought?  288 

Tell  me — and  I  will  tell  thee  what  is  truth^, 

O  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  man. 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  Deace, 
rt^me^t^'^  life  in  t'^^hI  leisnre-paftw^^JTr/ 
Few  know  thy  value,  and  few  taste  thy  sweets ;        ■ 
Though  many  boast  thy  favors,  and  affect  j 

To  understand  and  choose  thee  for  their  own.  J 

But  foolish  man  foregoes  his  proper  bliss. 
Even  as  his  first  progenitor,  and  quits. 
Though  placed  in  Paradise  (for  Earth  has  still 
Some  traces  of  her  youthful  beauty  left),  299; 

Substantial  happiness  for,.transientjoy. 
Scenes  form'd  for  contemplation,  and  to  nurse 
The  growing_^eed£or^1|22nr[;tlTat  suggest, 
By  every  pleasi n g  i  liTage  tliey  present. 
Reflections^  such  as  mv^liorate  the  heart, 
Compose  the  passions,  and  exalt  the  mind ; 
Scenes- such  as''tITese  ''tis  his  supreme  <delight 
To  fill  with  riot  and  defile  with  blood. 
Should  somQ  contn<T]r>p,  kinrl  fo  flip,  ppor  hrnfpc; 
We  persecute,  annihilate  th^  tribes 

Thf^t.(\vf^^v  tf)A  spnvtsmm-^^  ^vp.r  lijlland  dale.  _  810; 

Fearless,  and  rapt  away  from  all  his  cares ; 
Should  never  game^fowl  hatch  her  eggs  again, 
ISTor  baited  hook  deceive  the  fish's  eye ; 
Could  pageantry  and  dance,  and  feast  and  song. 
Be  quell'd  in  all  our  summer-months'  retreats ; 
How  many  self-deluded  jiymphs  and_.swains. 
Who  dream  tlTe"y"harrg"a  taste  for  fields  and  groves, 
"Would  find  tlTem  indeou^iuTi5«ri^3^of  the  spleen. 
And  crowd  tliaroads,  ijiijpjUiin^JbiLtlie  tow 
They  love  the  country,  and  none  else,  who  seek    v 
tor  their  own  sake  its  silence  and  its  shade:       "     ^  321 
-tt 


COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Delights  which  who  would  leave,  that  has  a  heart 

Susceptible  of  pity,  or  a  mind 

Cultured  and  capable  of  sober  thought, 

For  all  the  savage  din  of  the  swift  pack. 

And  clamors  of  the  field  ? — Detested  sport, 
«^  That  owes  its  pleasures  to  another's  pain ; 

That  feeds  upon  the  sobs  and  dying  shrieks 

Of  harmless  nature,  dumb,  but  yet  endued 

With  eloquence  that  agonies  inspire. 

Of  silent  tears  and  heart-distending  sighs !  381 

Vain  tears,  alas !  and  sighs  that  never  find 

A  corresponding  tone  in  jovial  souls!/ 

Well — one  at  least  is  safe.    One'sHelter'd  hare 

lias  never  heard  the  sanguinary  yell 

Of  cruel  man,  exulting  in  her  woes. 

Innocent  partner  of  my  peaceful  home, 

Whom  ten  long  years'  experience  of  my  care 

Has  made  at  last  familiar  ;  she  has  lost 

Much  of  her  vigilant  instinctive  dread, 

Kot  needful  here,  beneath  a  roof  like  mine. 

Yes — thou  mayst  eat  thy  bread,  and  lick  the  hand      o  '  ! , 

That  feeds  thee ;  thou  mayst  frolic  on  the  floor  j 

At  evening,  and  at  night  retire  secure       ""  i 

To  thy  straw  couch,  and  slumber  unalarm'd ; 

For  I  have  gain'd  thy  confidence,  have  pledged 

xVll  that  is  human  in  me,  to  protect 

Thine  unsuspecJting  gratitude  and  love. 

If  I  survive  thee,  I  will  dig  thy  grave ;  j 

And  when  I  place  thee  in  it,  sighing  say,  | 

I  knew  at  least  one  hare  that  had  a  friej3,(l.; 
J       How  various  his  employments,  whom  the  world 
J    Calls  idle;  and  who  justly,  in  return,  353 

Esteems  that  busy  world  an  idler  too ! 

Friends,  books,  a  garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen, 

Delightful  industry  enjoy 'd  at  home. 

And  Nature  in  her  cultivated  trim  I     / 

Dress'd  to  his  taste,  inviting  him  abroad  :l  \/ 
I    Can  he  want  occupation  who  has  these  ? 

Will  he  be  idle  who  has  much  to  enjoy? 

Me  therefore  studious  of  laborious  ease, 

Not  slothful,  happy  to  deceive  the  time, 
I  Not  waste  it,  and  aware  that  human  life 
/  Is  but  a  loan  to  be  repaid  with  use,  304 


THE    TASK.  219 

TVhen  He  shall  call  liis  debtors  to  account, 

From  whom  are  all  our  blessings,  business  finds 

Even  here.    AVhile  sedulous  I  seek  to  improve. 

At  least  neglect  not,  or  leave  unemploy'd. 

The  mind  he  gave  me ;  driving  it,  though  slack 

Too  oft,  and  nmch  impeded  in  its  work 

By  causes  not  to  be  divulged  in  vain, 

To  its  just  point — the  service  of  mankind.  ^ 

He  that  attends  to  his  interior  self. 

That  has  a  heart,  and  keeps  it ;  has  a  mind  374 

That  hungers,  and  supplies  it ;  and  who  seeks 

A  social,  not  a  dissipated  life. 

Has  business ;  feels  himself  engaged  to  achieve 

'No  unimportant,  though  a  silent  task. 

A  life  all  turbulence  and  noise  may  seem, 

To  him  that  leads  it,  wise,  and  to  be  praised ; 

But  wisdom  is  a  pearl  with  most  success     i^" — '" 

Sought  in  still  water,  and  beneath  clear  skijes : 

He  that  is  ever  occupied  in  storms. 

Or  dives  not  for  it,  or  brings  up  instead, 

Vainly  industrious,  a  disgraceful  prize.  385 

The  morning  finds  the  self-sequester'd  man 
Fresh  for  his  task,  intend  what  task  he  may. 
Whether  inclement  seasons  recommend  / 

His  warm  but  simple  home,  wiiere  he  enjoySj_ 
With  her  wTio  shares  bis  pleasures  and  his  "heart, 
Sweet  converse,  sipping  calm  the  fragrant  lymph 
Which  neatly  she  prepares  ;  then  to  his  book 
Well  chosen,  and  not  sullenly  perused 
In  selfish  silence,  but  imparted  oft. 
As  aught  occurs  that  she  may  smile  to  hear. 
Or  turn  to  nourishment,  digested  well.  896 

Or  if  the  garden  with  its  many  cares. 
All  well  repaid,  demand  him,  he  attends 
The  welcome  call,  conscious  how  much  the  hand 
Of  lubbard  Labor  needs  his  watchful  eye, 
Oft  loitering  lazily,  if  not  overseen. 
Or  misapplying  his  unskilful  strength. 
Nor  does  he  govern  only  or  direct. 
But  much  performs  himself.    No  works  indeed  * 
That  ask  robust,  tough  sinews,  bred  to  toil,         ; 
Servile  employ ;  but  such  as  may  amuse,  1 

Not  tire,  demanding  rather  skill  than  force.  .       I       407 


220  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Proud  of  his  well-spread  walls,  he  views  his  trees^ 
That  meet  (no  barren  interval  between), 
"With  pleasure  more  than  even  their  fruits  afford ; 
Which,  save  himself  who  trains  them,  none  can  feel. 
These  therefore  are  his  own  peculiar  charge ; 
'No  meaner  hand  may  discipline  the  shoots — 
ITone  but  his  steel  approach  them.    What  is  weak, 
DistemperVl,  or  has  lost  prolific  powers, 
Impair'd  by  age,  his  unrelenting  hand 
Dooms  to  the  knife :  nor  does  he  spare  the  soft  41'? 

And  succulent,  that  feeds  its  giant  growth. 
But  barren,  at  the  expense  of  neighboring  twigs 
Less  ostentatious,  and  yet  studded  thick 
With  hopeful  gems.    The  rest,  no  portion  left 
That  may  disgrace  his  art,  or  disappoint 
Large  expectation,  he  disposes  neat 
At  measured  distances,  that  air  and  sun. 
Admitted  freely,  may  atford  their  aid. 
And  ventilate  and  warm  the  swelhng  buds. 
Hence  Summer  has  her  riches.  Autumn  hence, 
And  ?ience  even  Winter  fills  his  wither'd  hand  42S 

With  blushing  fruits,  and  plenty  not  his  OAvn.^ 
Fair  recompense  of  labor  well  bestow'd, 
And  wise  precaution,  which  a  clime  so  rude 
Makes  needful  still,  whose  Spring  is  but  the  child 
Of  churlish  Winter,  in  her  fro  ward  moods  .. 
Discovering  much  the  temper  of  her  si^ie./ 
For  oft,  as  if  in  her  the  stream  of  mild 
Maternal  nature  had  reversed  its  course, 
'  She  brings  her  infants  forth  with  many  smiles  ; 
But  once  deliverM,  kills  them  with  a  frown. 
He  therefore,  timely  warn'd,  himself  supplies  439 

Her  want  of  care,  screening  and  keeping  warm 
The  plenteous  bloom,  that  no  rough  blast  may  sweep 
His  garlands  from  the  boughs.    Again,  as  oft 
As  the  sun  peeps  and  vernal  airs  breathe  mild. 
The  fence  withdrawn,  he  gives  them  every  beam, 
And  spreads  his  hopes  before  the  blaze  of  day.^  ' 

To  raise  the  prickly  and  green-coated  gourd/ 
So  grateful  to  the  palate,  and  when  rare 
So  coveted,  else  base  .and  disesteem'd — 
Food  for  the  vulgar  merely — is  an  art 

i  Miraturque  novos  fructus  et  non  sua  poma.— Yieq. 


THE    TASK.  221 

That  toiling  ages  have  but  just  matured^ 

And  at  this  moment  unassay'd  in  song. 

Yet  gnats  have  had,  and  frogs  and  mice,  long  since, 

Their  eulogy ;  those  sang  the  Mantuan  bard, 

And  these  the  Grecian,  in  ennobling  strains ; 

And  in  thy  numbers,  Phillips,  shines  for  aye 

The  Solitary  Shilling.    Pardon,  then. 

Ye  sage  dispensers  of  poetic  fame ! 

The  ambition  of  one  meaner  far,  whose  powers, 

Presuming  an  attempt  not  less  sublime,  459 

Pant  for  the  praise  of  dressing  to  the  taste 

Of  critic  appetite,  no  sordid  fare, 

A  cucumber,  while  costly  yet  and  scarce. 

Tlie  stable  yields  a  stercoraceous  heap,  v 
Impregnated  with  quick  fermenting  salts. 
And  potent  to  resist  the  freezing  blast ; 
For,  ere  the  beech  and  elm  have  cast  their  leaf 
Deciduous,  when  now  iJTovember  dark 
Checks  vegetation  in  the  torpid  plant 
Exposed  to  his  cold  breath,  thetask  begins. 
Warily  therefore,  and  with  prucTent  heed,  470 

lie  seeks  a  favor'd  spot ;  that  where  he  builds     ^ 
The  agglomerated  pile,  his  frame  may  front 
The  sun's  meridian  disk,  and  at  the  back 
Enjoy  close  shelter,  wall,  or  reeds,  or  hedge 
Impervious  to  the  wind.     First  he  bids  spread 
Dry  fern  or  litter'd  hay,  that  may  imbibe 
The  ascending  damps;  then  leisurely  impose, 
And  lightly,  shaking  it  with  agile  hand 
From  the  full  fork,  the  saturated  straw. 
What  longest  binds  the  closest,  forms  secure 
The  shapely  side,  that  as  it  rises  takes,  481 

By  just  degrees,  an  overhanging  breadth. 
Sheltering  the  base  with  its  projected  eaves; 
The  uplifted  frame,  compact  at  every  joint, 
And  overlaid  with  clear  translucent  glass, 
He  settles  next  upon  the  sloping  mount, 
Wliose  sharp  declivity  shoots  off  secure 
From  the  dash'd  pane  the  deluge  as  it  falls : 
He  shuts  it  close,  and  the  first  labor  ends. 
Tlirice  must  the  voluble  and  restless  Earth 
Spin  round  upon  her  axle,  ere  the  warmth, 
Slow  gathering  in  the  midst,  through  the  square  mass. 


222  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Diffused,  attain  the  surface:  -vvhen,  behold! 
A  pestilent  and  most  corrosive  steam, 
Like  a  gross  fog  Boeotian,  rising  fast, 
And  fast  condensed  upon  the  dewy  sash. 
Asks  egress ;  which  obtained,  the  overcharged 
And  drench'd  conservatory  breathes  abroad, 
In  volumes  wheeling  slow,  the  vapor  dank ; 
And,  purified,  rejoices  to  have  lost 
Its  foul  inhabitant.     But  to  assuage 
The  impatient  fervor  which  it  first  conceives  502 

"Within  its  reeking  bosom,  threatening  death 
To  his  young  hopes,  requires  discreet  delay. 
Experience,  slow  preceptress,  teaching  oft 
The  way  to  glory  by  miscarriage  foul, 
Must  prompt  him,  and  admonish  how  to  catch 
The  auspicious  moment,  when  the  tempered  heat, 
Friendly  to  vital  motion,  may  afford 
Soft  fomentation,  and  invite  the  seed. 
The  seed,  selected  wisely,  plump,  and  smooth, 
x\nd  glossy,  he  commits  to  pots  of  size 
Diminutive,  well  fill'd  with  well-prepared  513 

And  fruitful  soil,  that  has  been  treasured  long. 
And  drank  no  moisture  from  the  dripping  clouds : 
These,  on  the  warm  and  genial  earth  that  l:iides 
The  smoking  manure,  and  o'erspreads  it  all, 
He  places  lightly,  and  as  time  subdues 
The  rage  of  fermentation,  plunges  deep 
In  the  soft  medium,  till  they  stand  immersed. 
Then  rise  the  tender  germs,  upstarting  quick, 
And  spreading  wide  their  spongy  lobes ;  at  first 
Pale,  wan,  and  livid ;  but  assuming  soon. 
If  fann'd  by  balmy  and  nutritious  air,  524 

Strain'd  through  the  friendly  mats,  a  vivid  green. 
•  Two  leaves  produced,  two  rough  indented  leaves. 
Cautious  he  pinches  from  the  second  stalk 
A  pimple,-  that  portends  a  future  sprout. 
And  interdicts  its  growth.     Thence  straight  succeed 
The  branches,  sturdy  to  his  utmost  wish  ; 
Prolific  all,  and  harbingers  of  more. 
The  crowded  roots  demand  enlargement  now, 
And  transplantation  in  an  ampler  space. 
Indulged  in  what  they  wish,  they  soon  supply 
Large  foliage,  overshadowing  golden  flowers,  535 


THE    TASK.  223 

Blown  on  the  summit  of  tlie  apparent  fruit. 
These  have  their  sexes ;  and,  when  summer  shines, 
The  bee  transports  the  fertilizing  meal 
From  flow^er  to  flower,  and  even  the  breathing  air 
Wafts  the  rich  prize  to  its  appointed  use. 
Kot  so  when  Winter  scowls.     Assistant  Art 
Then  acts  in  Nature's  office,  brings  to  pass 
The  glad  espousals,  and  insures  the  crop. 

Grudge  not,  ye  rich  (since  Luxury  must  have 
His  dainties,  and  the  World's  more  numerous  half      545 
Lives  by  contriving  delicates  for  you). 
Grudge  not  the  cost.     Ye  little  know  the  cares. 
The  vigilance,  the  labor,  and  the  skill. 
That  day  and  night  are  exercised,  and  hang 
Upon  the  ticklish  balance  of  suspense, 
That  ye  may  garnish  your  profuse  regales 
With  summer  fruits  brought  forth  by  wintry  suns. 
Ten  thousand  dangers  lie  in  wait  to  thwart 
The  process.     Heat  and  cold,  and  wind  and  steam. 
Moisture  and  drought,  mice,  worms,  and  swarming  flies, 
Minute  as  dust,  and  numberless,  oft  work  556 

Dire  disappointment,  that  admits  no  cure, 
And  which  no  care  can  obviate.     It  were  long, 
Too  long,  to  tell  the  expedients  and  tlie  shifts 
Which  he  that  fights  a  season  so  severe 
Devises,  while  he  guards  his  tender  trust ; 
And  oft,  at  last,  in  vain.     The  learn'd  and  wise 
Sarcastic  would  exclaim,  and  judge  the  song 
Cold  as  its  theme,  and,  like  its  theme,  the  fruit 
Of  too  much  labor,  w^orthless  when  produced.^^ 

Who  loves  a  garden  loves  a  green-house  ^ioo,      '^^ 
Unconscious  of  a  less  propitious  clime,  567 

There  blooms  exotic  beauty,  w^arm  and  snug, 
While  the  winds  whistle  and  the  snows  descend. 

..The  spiry  myrtle  with  unwithering  leaf 
Shines  there,  and  flourishes.     The  golden  boast 
Of  Portugal  and  Western  India  there. 
The  ruddier  orange,  and  the  paler  lime, 

VPeep  through  their  polish'd  foliage  at  the  storm, 
And  seem  to  smile  at  what  they  need  not  fear. 
The  amomum  there  with  intermingling  flowers 
And  cherries  hangs  her  twigs.     Geranium  boasts 
Her  crimson  honors,  and  the  spangled  beau,  578 


224  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Ficoides,  glitters  bright  the  winter  long.  • 
All  plants,  of  every  leaf,  that  can  endure 
The  winter's  frown,  if  screen'd  from  his  shrewd  bite, 
Live  there  and  prosper.     Those  Ausonia  claims, 
Levantine  regions  these  ;  the  Azores  send 
Their  jessamine,  her  jessamine  remote 
Caffraria ;  foreigners  from  many  lands. 
They  form  one  social  shade,  as  if  convened 
By  magic  summons  of  the  Orphean  lyre. 
Yet  just  arrangement,  rarely  brouglit  to  pass  588 

But  by  a  master's  hand,  disposing  well 
The  gay  diversities  of  leaf  and  flower. 
Must  lend  its  aid  to  illustrate  all  their  charms, 
And  dress  the  regular  yet  various  scene. 
Plant  behind  plant  aspiring,  in  the  van 
The  dwarfish,  in  the  rear  retired,  but  still 
Sublime  above  the  rest,  the  statelier  stand.) 
So  once  were  ranged  the  sons  of  ancient  Rome, 
A  noble  show !  wliile  Roscius  trod  the  stage, 
\^     And  so,  while  Garrick,  as  renown'd  as  he, 

The  sons  of  Albion — fearing  each  to  lose  599 

Some  note  of  Nature's  music  from  his  lips, 

And  covetous  of  Shakspeare's  beauty,  seen 

In  every  flash  of  his  far-beaming  eye. 

For  taste  alone  and  well-contrived  display 

Suffice  to  give  the  marshall'd  ranks  the  grace 

Of  their  complete  effect.     Much  yet  remains 

Unsung,  and  many  cares  are  yet  behind, 

And  more  laborious ;  cares  on  which  depends 

Their  vigor,  injured  soon,  not  soon  restored. 

Th(?  soil  must  be  renew'd,  which,  often  wasli'd, 

Loses  its  treasure  of  salubrious  salts,  610j 

And  disappoints  the  roots ;  the  slender  roots 

Close  interwoven,  where  they  meet  the  vase 

Must  smooth  be  shorn  away ;  the  sapless  branch 

Must  fly  before  the  knife ;  the  wither'd  leaf 

Must  be  detach'd,  and  where  it  strews  the  floor 

Swept  with  a  woman's  neatness,  breeding  else 

Contagion,  and  disseminating  death. 

Discharge  but  these  kind  offices  (and  who 

Would  spare,  that  loves  them,  offices  like  these  ?) 

AVell  they  reward  the  toil.     The  sight  is  j)leased, 

The  scent  regaled ;  each  odoriferous  leaf,  621 


THE    TASK.  225 

Each  opening  blossom,  freely  breathes  abroad  V 
Its  gratitude,  and  thanks  him  with  its  sweets.  / 

So  manifold,  all  pleasing  in  tlieir  kind, 
All  healthful,  are  the  employs  of  rural  life, 
Eeiterated  as  the  wheel  of  time 
Runs  round ;  still  ending,  and  beginning  still. 
Nor  are  these  all.     To  deck  the  shapely  knoll, 
That  softly  swelPd  and  gayly  dress'd,  appears 
A  flowery  island,  from  the  dark  green  lawn 
Emerging,  must  be  deem\l  a  labor  due  631 

To  no  mean  hand,  and  asks  the  touch  of  taste. 
Here  also  grateful  mixture  of  well  match'd 
And  sorted  hues  (each  giving  each  relief,  . 
And  by  contrasted  beauty  shining  more), 
Is  needful.     Strength  may  wield  the  ponderous  spado, 
May  turn  tlie  clod,  and  wheel  the  compost  home ; 
But  elegance,  chief  grace  the  garden  shows,   \ 
And  most  attractive,  is  the  fair  result  / 

Of  thought,  the  creature  of  a  polish'd  mind. 
Without  it,  all  is  Gothic  as  the  scene 
To  Avhich  the  insipid  citizen  resorts  642 

Kear  yonder  heath ;  where  Industry  misspent. 
But  proud  of  his  uncouth  ill-chosen  task. 
Has  made  a  heaven  on  earth ;  with  suns  and  moons 
Of  close-ramm'd  stones  has  charged  the  encumber'd  soil, 
And  fairly  laid  the  zodiac  in  the  dust. 
He  therefore  who  would  see  his  flowers  disposed 
Sightly  and  in  just  order,  ere  he  gives 
The  beds  the  trusted  treasure  of  their  seeds, 
Forecasts  the  future  whole ;  and  when  the  scene 
Shall  break  into  its  preconceived  display, 
Each  for  itself,  and  all  as  with  one  voice  653 

Conspiring,  may  attest  his  bright  design. 
Nor  even  then,  dismissing  as  perform'd 
His  pleasant  work,  may  he  suppose  it  done. 
Few  self-supported  flowers  endure  the  wind 
Uninjured,  but  expect  the  upholding  aid 
Of  the  smooth-shaven  prop ;  and,  neatly  tied, 
Are  wedded  thus,  like  beauty  to  old  age, 
For  interest  sake,  the  living  to  the  dead. 
Some  clothe  the  soil  that  feeds  them,  far  diffused 
And  lowly  creeping,  modest  and  yet  fair. 
Like  virtue,  thriving  most  where  little  seen.  604 


226  cowper's  poetical  avorks. 

Some,  more  aspiring,  catch  tlie  neighbor  shrub, 

^Tith  clasping  tendrils,  and  invest  his  branch, 

Else  unadorn'd,  with  many  a  gay  festoon 

And  fragrant  chaplet,  recompensing  well 

The  strength  they  borrow  with  the  grace  they  lend. 

All  hate  the  rank  society  of  weeds, 

Noisome,  and  ever  greedy  to  exhaust 

The  impoverish'd  earth  ;  an  overbearing  race. 

That,  like  the  multitude  made  faction-mad. 

Disturb  good  order,  and  degrade  true  worth.  ,  674 

O  blest  seclusion  from  a  jarring  world,    . 
"Which  he,  thus  occupied,  enjoys !   ^Eetreat 
Cannot  indeed  to  guilty  man  restore 
Lost  innocenee,  or  cancel  follies  past ; 
V)\\t  it  has  peace,  and  much  secures  the  mkid 
Prom-  all  assaults  of  evil ;  proving  still 
\  A  tjiithful  barrier,  not  o'erleap'd  with  ease 

/     By  vicious^  Customj^raging  uncontrolled 

I     Abroad,  anTTtesoTating  public  life. 

AVhen  fierce  Temptation,  seconded  within 

\     By  traitor  Appetite,  and  arm'd  with  darts  685 

Tempered  in  hell,  invades  the  throbbing  breast — 
To  combat  may  be  glorious^  ajid  success 
Perhaps  may  crown  us ;  (Tjut  to  "Hy  is  safo?^ 
Had  I  the  choice  of  sublunary  gooK, 
"What  could  I  wish,  that  I  possess  not  here? 
Health,  leisure,  means  to  improve  it,  friendship,  peace, 
'No  loose  or  wanton,  though  a  wandering.  Muse, 
And  constant  occupation  without  care. 
Thus  blest,  I  draw  a  picture  of  that  bliss ; 
Hopeless,  indeed,  that  dissipated  minds. 
And  profligate  abusers  of  a  world  696 

Created  fair  so  much  in  vain  for  them, 
Should  seek  the  guiltless  joys  that  I  describe. 
Allured  by  my  report :  but  sure  no  less, 
That,  self-condenm'd,  they  must  neglect  the  prize. 
And  what  they  will  not  taste,  must  yet  approve^ 
AVhat  we  admire  we  praise;  and,  when  we  praise, 
Advance  it  into  notice,  that,  its  worth 
Acknowledged,  others  may  admire  it  too. 
I  therefore  recommend,  though  at  the  risk 
Of  popular  disgust,  yet  boldly  still. 
The  cause  of  piety  and  sacred  truth,  70| 


THE   TASK.  227 

And  virtue,  and  those  scenes  wliich  God  ordain'd . 

Should  best  secure  them,  and  promote  them  most ; 

Scenes  that  I  love,  and  with  regret  perceive 

Forsaken,  or  through  fblly  not  enjoy'd., 

Pure  is  the  nymph,  though  liberal  of  her  smiles, 

And  chaste,  though  nnconfined,  whom  I  extol ; 

Not  as  the  prince  in  Slmshan,  wlien  he  calPd, 

Vainglorious  of  her  cliarms,  his  Yashti  forth 

To  grace  the  full  pavilion.     His  design 

Was  but  to  boast  his  own  peculiar  good,  717 

Which  all  might  view  with  envy,  none  partake. 

My  charmer  is  not  mine  alone ;  my  sweets, 

And  she  that  sweetens  all  my  bitters  too, 

Nature^  enchanting-  Nature,  in  whose  form 

AncTlineaments  divine  I  trace  a  hand^ 

Tliat  errs  not,  and  find  raptures  still  renew-d, 

is-free  to  all  men — universaXprize. 

S!range~tlTat"So  fair  a  creature  should  yet  Avant' 

Admirers,  and  be  destined  to  divide  / 

With  meaner  objects  even  the  few  she  finds!-/ 

Stript  of  her  ornaments,  her  leaves  and  flowers,  728 

She  loses  all  her  influence.     Cities  then 

Attract  us,  and  neglected  Nature  pines. 

Abandoned,  as  nnworthy  of  our  love. 

But  are  not  wholesome  airs,  though  unperfumed 

By  roses ;  and  clear  suns,  though  scarcely  felt ; 

And  groves,  if  unharmonious,  yet  secure 

From  clamor,  and  whose  very  silence  charms ; 

To  be  preferr'd  to  smoke,  to  the  eclipse 

That  metropolitan  volcanoes  make. 

Whose  Stygian  throats  breathe  darkness  all  day  long ; 

And  to  the  stir  of  ^omrperce^  driving;  slow,  sJlS^ 

And  thundering  loud,  with  his  ten  thousand  wheels? 

They  WT)uld  be,  were  not  madness  in  the  head. 

And  folly  in  the  heart;  were  England  now  | 

What  England  was,  plain,  hospitable,  kind,  I 

And  undebauch'd.    But  we  have  bid  farewell  1 

To  all  the  virtues  of  those  better  days, 

And  all  their  honest  pleasures.    Mansions  once 

Knew  their  own  masters;  and  laborious  hinds, 

Who  had  survived  the  fjither,  served  the  son. 

Now  the  legitiniate  and  riglitful  lord 

Is  but  a  transient  guest,  newly  arrived,   ^  750 


228  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  soon  to  be  supplanted.    He  that  saw 
His  patrimonial  timber  cast  its  leaf, 
Sells  the  last  scantling,  and  transfers  the  price 
To  some  shrewd  sharper,  ere  it  buds  again. 
Estates  are  landscapes,  gazed  upon  awhile, 
Then  advertised,  and  auctioneer'd  away. 
The  country  starves,  and  tliey  that  feed  the  o'ercharged 
And  surfeited  lewd  town  with  her  fair  dues. 
By  a  just  judgment  strip  and  starve  themselv.gS#J 
The  wings,  that  waft  our  riches  out  of  sight,  760 

Grow  on  the  gamester's  elbow ;  and  the  alert 
And  nimble  motion  of  those  restless  joints, 
That  never  tire,  soon  fans  them  all  away. 
Improvement  too,  the  idol  of  the  age. 
Is  fed  with  many  a  victim.     Lo,  he  comes ! 
The  omnipotent  magician.  Brown,  appears ! 
Down  falls  the  venerable  pile,  the  abode 
Of  our  forefathers — a  grave  whisker'd  race, 
But  tasteless.    Springs  a  palace  in  its  stead, 
But  in  a  distant  spot ;  where  more  exposed, 
:It  may  enjoy  the  advantage  of  the  north,  771 

And  aguish  east,  till  time  shall  have  transformed 
,Those  naked  acres  to  a  sheltering  grove. 
!He  speaks.    The  lake  in  front  becomes  a  lawn ; 
;AYoods  vanish,  hills  subside,  and  valleys  rise; 
And  streams,  as  if  created  for  his  use. 
Pursue  the  track  of  his  directing  wand. 
Sinuous  or  straight,  now  rapid  and  now  slow, 
N'ow  murmuring  soft,  now  roaring  in  cascades — 
Even  as  he  bids !    The  enraptured  owner  smiles. 
'Tis  finish'd !  and  yet,  linish'd  as  it  seems. 
Still  wants  a  grace,  the  loveliest  it  could  show —        782 
A  mine  to  satisfy  the  enormous  cost. 
Drain'd  to  the  last  poor  item  of  his  wealth. 
He  sighs,  departs,  and  leaves  the  accomplished  plan, 
That  he  has  touch'd,  retouch'd,  many  a  long  day 
LaborM,  and  many  a  night  pursued  in  dreams. 
Just  when  it  meets  his  hopes,  and  proves  the  heaven 
He  wanted,  for  a  wealthier  to  enjoy ! 
And  now  perhaps  the  glorious  hour  is  come, 
"When,  having  no  stake  left,  no  pledge  to  endear 
Iler  interests,  or  that  gives  her  sacred  cause 
A  moment's  operation  on  his  love,  .  793 


^^^   Of  XH3i 


[xrjriYBRSiTy! 


THE    TASK. 

t  intense  and  ^ 
Ministerii 


.10  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

And  spotted  with  all  crimes ;  in  whom  I  see 

Much  that  I  love,  and  more  thlltTaJiaiH,^ 

And  all  that  I  abhor ;  thou  freckled  fair, 

That  pleases  and  yet  shocks  me,  I  can  laugh, 

And  I  can  weep,  can  hope,  and  can  despond, 

Feel  wrath  and  pity,  when  I  think  on  thee ! 

Ten  righteous  would  have  saved  a  city  once. 

And  thou  hast  many  righteous. — Well  for  thee, 

That  salt  preserves  thee ;  more  corrupted  else, 

And  therefore  more  obnoxious,  at  this  hour,  846 

Than  Sodom  in  her  day  had  power  to  be, 

For  whom  God  heard  his  Abraham  plead  in  vain. 


BOOK  IV. -THE  WINTER  EVENING. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  post  comes  in,  1— The  newspaper  is  read,  36— The  -world  contemplated  at  a  dis- 
tance, 88— Address  to  Winter,  120 — The  rural  amusements  of  a  winter  eveninj? 
compared  with  the  fashionable  ones,  193— Address  to  Eveuing,'243— A  brown 
study,  267 — Fall  of  snow  in  the  exemngf^2 — The  wagoner,  330 — A  poor  family 
piece,  374— The  rural  thief,  429 — rublic  houses,  400- The  multitude  of  them  cen- 
sured, 500— The  farmer's  daughter,  what  she  was,  513— What  she  is,  534— Tho 
simplicity  of  country  manners  almost  lost,  fi;^^— rn^sns  nF  thft  change.  DTfi— Doso/- 
tioB  of  the  country  by  th^-ich,  587— Neglect  of  magisiraies,  ^'Jl3— The  militia  priii- 
cipally  in  i'ault,  U13— 'I'lie  new  recruit  and  his  transformation,  623 — Refiection  on 
bodies  corporate,  059— The  love  of  rural  objects  natural  to  all,  and  never  to  be 
totally  extinguished,  691. 

IIaek  !  'tis  the  twanging  horn !  o'er  yonder  bridge, 
That  with  its  wearisome  hut  needful  length 
Bestrides  the  wintry  "flood,  in  Avhich  the  moon 
Sees  her  unwrinklea  face  reflected  bright ; — 
"fie  comes,  the  herald* of  a  noisy  wGii'ld, 
AVith  spatter'd  bnt)ts,  strapped  waist,  and  frozen  locks; 
Kews  from  all  nations  lumbering  at  his  back. 
True  to  his  charge,  the  close-pack'd  load  beliind. 
Yet  careless  Vvhat  he  brings,  liis  one  concern  9 

Is  to  conduct  it  to'  the  destined  inn. 
And,  having  dropp'd  the  expected  bag,  pass  on. 
lie  wiiistles  as  he  goes,  light-hearted  wretch, 
Cold  And  yet  cheerful :  messenger  o£ grief 
Pc vhn^7?^  to  t^l^^^^^f^nT^^lq^  and  of  joy  to  some ; 
To  liim  indifferent  whether  grief  or  joy. 
Houses  in  ashes,  and  the  fall  of  stocks, 
Birtlis,  deaths,  and  marriages,  epistles  wet 
With  tears  tliat  trickled  down  the  w^riter's  cheeks 
Fast  as  the  periods  from  his  fluent  quill. 
Or  charged  with  amorous  siglis  of  absent  swains,      20 


232  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  nymphs  responsive,  equally  affect 
His  horse  and  him,  unconscious  of- them  all. 
But  oh,  the  important  budget!  usher'd  in 
"With  such  heart-shaking  music,  Avho  can  say 
AYhat  are  its  tidings  ?  have  our  ^'oops  awaked  ? 
Or  do  they  still,  as  if  with  opium  drugged, 
Snore  to  the  murmurs  of  the  Atlantic  Avave? 
Is  India  free?  and  does  she  wear  her  plumed 
And  jewell'd  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace, 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still  ?     The  grand  debate,  30 

The  popular  harangue,  the  tart  reply. 
The  logic,  and  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit. 
And  the  loud  laugh — I  long  to  know  them  all ; 
I  burn  to  set  the  imprison'd  wranglers  free. 
And  give  them  voice  and  utterance  once  again. 
>Tnw_2tir  thr  firr;-^nd  o]n^9.  thf^  ^huttp^--^  •^^^'^'^'j 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round. 
And,  while  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn 
Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cui)s, 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in.  41 

Not  such  his  evening,  who  with  shining  face 
Sweats  in  the  crowded  theatre,  and,  squeezed 
And  bored  with  elboAV-points  througli  both  his  sides, 
Outscolds  the  ranting  actor  on  the  stage ; 
Nor  his,  who  patient  stands  till  his  feet  throb, 
And  his  head  thumps,  to  feed  upon  the  breath 
Of  patriots,  bursting  with  heroic  rage. 
Or  placemen,  all  tranquillity  and  smiles. 
This  folio  of  four  pages,  liappy  work ! 
"Which  not  even  critics  criticise ;  that  holds 
Inquisitive  Attention,  while  I  read,  52 

Fast  bound  in  chains  of  silence,  which  the  fair, 
Though  eloquent  themselves,  yet  fear  to  break ; — 
AVhat  is  it  but  a  map  of  busy  life. 
Its  fluctuations,  and  its  vast  concerns  ? 
Here  runs  the  mountainous  and  craggy  ridge 
That  tempts  Ambition.     On  the  summit  see 
The  seals  of  ofBce  glitter  in  his  eyes ; 
He  climbs,  he  pants,  he  grasps  them.     At  his  heels, 
Close  at  his  heels,  a  demagogue  ascends. 
And  with  a  dexterous  jerk  soon  twists  him  down, 
And  wins  them,  but  to  lose  them  in  his  turn.  03 


THE    TASK.  233 

♦ 

Here  rills  of  oily  eloquence,  in  soft 

Meanders  lubricate  the  course  they  take ; 

The  modest  speaker  is  ashamed  and  grieved 

To  engross  a  moment's  notice,  and  yet  begs, 

Begs  a  propitious  ear  for  his  poor  thoughts, 

However  trivial  all  that  he  conceives. 

Sweet  bashfulness!  it  claims  at  least  this  praise — 

The  dearth  of  information  and  good  sense, 

That  it  foretells  us,  always  comes  to  pass. 

Cataracts  of  declamation  thunder  here ;  73 

There  forests  of  no  meaning  spread  the  page. 

In  which  all  comprehension  wanders  lost ; 

While  fields  of  pleasantry  amuse  us  there 

With  merry  descants  on  a  nation's  woes. 

The  rest  appears  a  wilderness  of  strange 

But  gay  confusion ;  roses  for  the  cheeks. 

And  lilies  for  the  browns  of  faded  age, 

Teeth  for  the  toothless,  ringlets  for  the  bald. 

Heaven,  earth,  and  ocean,  plunder'd  of  their  sweets, 

Nectareous  essences,  Olympian  dews, 

Sermons,  and  city  feasts,  and  favorite  airs,  84 

Ethereal  journeys,  submarine  exploits, 

And  Katerfelto,  with  his  hair  on  end 

At  his  ow^n  wonders,  w^ondering  for  his  bread. 

'Tis  pleasant,  th rough ..tlie.loopholes-ofretrea#^-'^ii 
To  D'eeTr'aT'such  a  world ;  to  see  the  stir  !  r 

(Irtlie  great  ijaDei,  and' not  feel  the  crowed  ; 
To  hear  the  roar  she  sends  through  all  her  gates 
At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dy'mg  sound 
Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  the  uninjured  ear. 
Thus  sitting,  and  surveying  thus  at  ease 
The  globe  and  its  concerns,  I  seem  advanced  95 

To  some  secure  and  more  than  mortal  height. 
That  liberates  and  exempts  me  from  them  all. 
It  turns  submitted  to  my  view,  turns  round 
With  all  its  generations  ;  I  behold 
The  tumult,  and  am  still.     Tli^_souniLaL»aftr 

Grieves,  but  alarms  me  not.     I  mourn  the  pride 

And  avarice  that  make  man  a  ^volf  to  man  ; 

Hear  the  faint  echo  of  those  brazen  throats 

]3y  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heart 

And  sigh,  but  never  tremble  at  the  sound.  106 


234  cowper's  poetical  works. 

t 
He  travels  and  expatiates,  as  the  bee 
From  flower  to  flower,  so  lie  from  land  to  land ; 
The  manners,  customs,  policy  of  all 
Pay  contribution  to  the  store  he  gleans; 
He  sucks  intelligence  in  every  clinie. 
And  spreads  the  honey  of  his  deep  research 
At  his  return — a  rich  repast  for  me. 
He  travels,  and  I. too.     I  tread  his  deck, 
Ascend  his, topmast,  through  his  peering  eyes 
Discover  countries,  with  a  kindred  heart  116 

Suifer  his  woes,  and  share  in  his  escapes; 
While  fancy,  hke  the  finger  of  a  clock. 
Runs  the  great  circuit,  and  is  still  at  home. 

O  Winter !  ruler  of  the  inverted  year. 
Thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  flU'd, 
Thy  breath  congeal'd  upon  thy  hps,  thy  cheeks 
Fringed  witli  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Than  those  ot  age,  tliy  I'oreheacl  wrapp'd  in  clouds., 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels. 
But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slij^pery  way;  127 

I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st. 
And  dreaded  as  thou  art !    Thou  hokVst  the  sun 
A  prisoner  in  the  yet  undawning  east. 
Shortening  his  journey  between  morn  and  noon, 
And  hurrying  him,  impatient  of  his  stay, 
Down  to  the  rosy  west ;  but  kindly  still 
Compensating  his  loss  with  added  hours 
Of  social  converse  and  instructive  ease. 
And  gathering,  at  short  notice,  in  one  group, 
The  family  dispersed,  and  fixing  thought, 
Not  less  dispersed,  by  daylight  a^id  its  cares.  •<  138 

I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights. 
Fireside  enjoyments,  homeborn  happiness. 
And  all  the  comforts  that  the  lowly  roof 
Of  undisturb'd  Retirement,  and  the  hours 
Of  long  uninterrupted  evening,  know. 
Ko  rattling  wheels  stop  short  before  these  gates; 
1^0  powderVl  pert  proficient  in  the  art 
Of  sounding  an  alarm  assaults  these  dooj-s 
Till  the  street  rings ;  no  stationary  steeds 
Cough  their  own  knell,  while,  heedless  of  the  sound. 
The  silent  circle  fan  themselves,  and  quake:  1  i'J 


THE    TASK.  235 

But  here  the  needle  plies  its  busy  task, 

The  pattern  grows,  the  well-depicted  ilower, 

"Wrought  patiently  into  the  snowy  lawn, 

Unfolds  its  bosom ;  buds,  and  leaves,  and  sprigs, 

And  curling  tendrils,  gracefully  dis[)osed, 

Follow  the  nimble  finger  of  tlie  fair; 

A  wreath  that  cannot  fade,  of  flowers  that  blow 

With  most  success  when  all  besides  decay. 

The  poet's  or  historian's  page,  by  one 

Made  vocal  for  the_amusement  of  the  rest ;  159 

The  sprightly  lyre,  whose  treasure  of  sweet  sounds 

The  toucli  Ironi  many  a  trembling  chord  shakes  out ; 

And  the  clear  voice,  symphonious,  yet  distinct. 

And  in  the  charming  strife  triumphant  still, — 

Beguile  the  night,  and  set  a  keener  edge 

On  female  industry :  the  threaded  steel 

Flies  swiftly,  and  unfelt  the  task  proceeds. 

The  volume  closed,  the  customary  rites  ^ 

Of  the  last  meal  commence.     A  "Roman  meal ;  ^ 

Such  as  the  mistress  of  the  world  once  found 

Delicious,  when  her  patriots  of  high  note,  170 

Perhaps  by  moonlight,  at  their  huntble  doors, 

And  under  an  old  oak's  domestic  shade, 

Enjoy'd,  spare  feast!  a  radish  and  an  egg. 

Discourse  ensues,  not  trivial,  yet  not  dull, 

Is'or  such  as  with  a  frown  forbids  the  play 

Of  fiinc}^,  or  proscribes  the  sound  of-mirtlK 

"N"or  do  we  madly^  like  an  impious  • 

"Who  deem  religion  frenzy,  and  the  God 

That  made  them  an  intruder  on  their  joys. 

Start  at  his  awful  name,  or  deem  his  praise 

A  jarring  note.    Themes  of  a  graver  tone,  181 

Exciting  oft  our  gratitude  and  love. 

While  we  retrace  with  Memory's  pointing  wand, 

That  calls  the  past  to  our  exact  review, 

The  dangers  we  have  'scaped,  the  broken  snare, 

The  disappointed  foe,  deliverance  found 

Unlook'd  for,  life  preserved,  and  peace  restored — 

Fruits  of  onmipotent  eternal  love. 

O  evenings  worthy  of  the  gods !  exclaimed 

The  Sabine  bard.    O  evenings,  I  reply. 

More  to  be  prized  and  coveted  than  yours. 

As  more  illumined,  and  Avith  nobler  truths,  192 


236  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

.  That  I,  and  mine,  and  those  we  love,  enjoy! 

•Is  Winter  liideous  in  a  garb  like  tliis  ? 
^N'eeds  he  the  tragic  far,  tlie  smoke  of  lamps, 
The  pent-up  breath  of  an  unsavory  throng. 
To  thaw  him  into  feeling;  or  the  smart 
And  snappish  dialogue,  that  flippant  wits 
Call  comedy,  to  prompt  him  with  a  smile? 
The  self-complacent  actor,  when  he  views 
(Stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  a  full  house) 
The  slope  of  faces  froih  the  floor  to  the  roof  202 

,(As  if  one  master-spring  controll'd  them  all) 
Relax'd  into  a  universal  grin. 
Sees  not  a  countenance  there  that  speaks  a  joy 
Half  so  refined  or  so  sincere  as  ours. 
Cards  w^ere  superfluous  here,  with  all  the  tricks 
That  Idleness  lias  ever  yet  contrived 
To  fill  the  void  of  an  unfurnish'd  brain. 
To  palliate  dulness,  and  give  time  a  shove. 
Time,  as  he  passes  us,  has  a  dove's  wing, 
Unsoil'd  and  swift,  and  of  a  silken  sound ; 
But  the  World's  Time,  is  Time  in  masquerade!  213 

Theirs,  should  I  paint  him,  has  his  pinions  fledged 
With  motley  plumes ;  and,  where  the  peacock  shows 
His  azure  eyes,  is  tinctured  black  and  red 
With  spots  quadrangular  of  diamond  form, 
Ensanguined  liearts,  clubs  typical  of  strife. 
And  spades,  the  eihblem  of  untimely  graves. 
What  should  be,  and  what  was,  an  hour-glass  once. 
Becomes  a  dice-box ;  and  a  billiard-mace 
Well  does  the  work  of  his  destructive  scythe. 
Thus  deck'd,  he  charms  a  world  whom  Fashion  blinds 
To  his  true  worth,  most  pleased  when  idle  most ;        22i 
Whose  only  happy  are  their  wasted  hours. 
Even  misses,  at  wdiose  age  their  mothers  w^ore 
The  backstring  and  the  bib,  assume  the  dress 
Of  w'omanhood,  fit  pupils  in  the  school 
Of  card-devoted  Time,  and,  niglit  by  night, 
Placed  at  some  vacant  corner  of  the  board, 
Learn  every  trick,  and  soon  play  all  the  game. 
But  truce  with  censure.    Roving  as  I  rove. 
Where  shall  I  find  an  end,  or  how  proceed? 
As  he  that  travels  far.,  oft  tunis  aside 

235 


THE    TASK.  237 

Whicli,  seen,  deliglits  him  not;  then  coming  home, 
Describes  and  prints  it,  that  the  workl  may  know 
How  far  he  went  for  what  was  notliing  worth ; 
So  I,  with  brush  in  hand  and  pallet  spread, 
"With  color's  mix'd  for  a  far  different  use, 
Paint  cards,  and  dolls,  and  every  idle  tiling 
That  Fancy  finds  in  her  excursive  flights. 

Come,  Evening,  once  again,  season  of  peace; 
Return,  sweet  Evening,  and  continue  long!  ^ 

/^lethinks  I  see  tliee  in  the  streaky  west,  245 

AVith  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  ISTjght 
Treads  on  thy  sw^eeping  train ;  one  hand  employed    • 

•  In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
On  bird  and  beast,  the  other  charged  for  man 
AYith  sweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day : 
Not  sumptuously  adorn'd,  nor  needing  aid. 
Like  lio'mely-featured  Night,  of  clustering  gems ; 

*7K.  star  or  two,  just  twinkling  on  thy  brow,  \ 

^Suffices  thee;  save  that  tlie  moon  is, thine  J 
No  less  than  hers,  not  worn  indeed  on  high 
With  ostentatious  pageantry,  but  set  250 

With  modest  grandeur  in  thy  purple  zone. 
Resplendent  less,  but  of  an  am[)ler  round. 
Come  then,  and  thou  shalt  find  thy  votary  calm, 
Or  make  me  so!     Composure  is  thy  gift : 
And,  whether  I  devote  thy  gentle  hours " 
To  books,  to  music,  or  the  poet's  toil ; 
To  weaving  nets  ^or  bird-alluring  fruit ; 
Or  twining  silken  threads  round  ivory  reels, 
When  they  command  whom  man  was  born  to  please*, 
I  slight  thee  not,  but  make  thee  welcome  still. 

Just  when  our  drawing-rooms  begin  to*blaze  267 

With  lights,  by  clear  reflection  multiplied 
From  many  a  mirror,  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
Goliath,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk 
Whole  without  stooping,  towering  crest  and  all, 
My  pleasures  too  begin.     But  me  perhaps 
The  glowing  hearth  may  satisfy  awhile 
With  faint  illumination,  that  uplifts 
Tlie  shadow  to  the  ceiling,  there  by  fits 
Dancing  uncouthly  to  the  quivering  flame. 

I  Not  undelightful  is  an  hour  to  mo 


^S8  cowper's  poetical  wokks. 

Suits  well  the  tlioiightful  or  unthinking  mind, 
The  mind  contemplative,  with  some  new  theme 
Pregnant,  or  indisposed  alike  to  all. 
Laugh  ye,  w^ho  boast  your  more  mercurial  powers, 
Tliat  never  feel  a  stupor,  know  no  pause, 
!N'or  need  one ;  I  am  conscious,  and  confess,   t 
Fearless,  a  soul  that  does  not  always  thiiikJ 
Me  oft  has  Fancy,  ludicrous  and  wildT 
Sootlied  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  towers. 
Trees,  churches,  and  strange  visages,  express'd.  288 

In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 
I  gazed,  myself  creating  what  I  saw. 
Nor  less  amused  have  I  quiescent  watch'd 
The  sooty  films  that  play  upon  the  bars 
Pendulous,  and  foreboding,  in  the  view 
Of  superstition,  prophesying  still, 
Though  still  deceived,  some  stranger's  near  approach. 
'Tis  thus  the  understanding  takes  repose 
In  indolent  vacuity  of  thought, 
And  sleeps,  and  is  refresh'd.     Meanwhile  the  flice 
Conceals  the  mood  lethargic  Avith  a  mask  299 

Of  deep  deliberation,  as  the  man 
Were  taskVl  to  his  full  strength,  absorbed  and  lost. 
Thus  oft,  reclined  at  ease,  I  lose  an  liour 
At  evening,  till  at  length  the  freezing  blast, 
That  sweeps" the  bolted  shutter,  summons  home 
The  recollected  powers,  and,  snapping  short 
The  glassy  threads  w^ith  which  the  fancy  weaves 
Her  brittle  toys,  restores  me  to  myself. 
/  How  calm  is  my  recess ;  and  how  the  frost, 
Rf|mng  abroad,'  and  the  rougli  wind,  endear 
The  i^UuilUG  iwul  Lhe  warmth  enjoy'd  within!  310 

I  saw  the  Avoods  and  fields,  at  close  of  day, 
A  variegated  show ;  the  meadows  green, 

luirh  fa(|led ;  and  the  lands,  Avhere  lately  Avaved 
The  golden  harvest,  of  a  melku^JiJ^own, 
Uptunrci  so  lately  by  tlie  forceful  share. 
I  saAv  far  olf  the  Aveedy  fallows  smile 
With  verdure  not  unprofitable,  grazed 
By  flocks,  fast  feeding,  and  selecting  each 
His  faA'orite  herb ;  Avhile  all  the  leafless  groves, 
Tliat  skirt  the  horizon,  Avore  a  sable  hue, 
Scarce  noticed  in  the  kindred  dusk  of  eve.  32 


\,/ 


THE    TASK.  239 

To-niorrow  brings  a  change,  a  total  cliange! 

Wliicli  even  now,  though  silently  perfonn'd, 

And  slowly,  and  by  most  unfelt,  the  face 

Of  universal  nature  undergoes. 

Fast  falls  a  fleecy  shower :  the  downy  flakes 

Descending,  and,  with  never-ceasing  lapse, 

Softly  alighting  upon  all  below, 

Assimilate  all  objects.     Earth  receives 

Gladly  the  thickening  mantle;  and  the  green 

And  tender  blade,  that  fearVl  the  chilling  blast,  331 

Escaf)es  unhurt  beneath  so  warm  a  veil. 

In  such  a  world,  so  thorny,  and  where  noije  / 
Findslmpptness  uiiblighted,  or,  if  found,  \  ! 

Wltircrnt  some  thistly  sorrow  at  its  side^  ?  ' 

It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distiuguish'd  than  ourselves ;  that  thus 
We  may  Avith  patience  bear  our  moderate  ills, 
And  sympathize  with  others  suftering  more. 
Ill  fares  the  traveller  now,  and  he  that  stalks 
In  ponderous  boots  beside  his  reeking  team.  342 

The  wain  goes  heavily,  impeded  sore    ^ 
By  congregated  loads  adhering  close 
To  the  clogg'd  wheels ;  and  in  its  sluggish  pace 
Noiseless  appears  a  moving  hill  of  snow. 
The  toiling  steeds  expand  the  nostril  wide ; 
While  every  breath,  by  respiration  strong 
Forced  downward,  is  consolidated  soon 
Upon  their  jutting  chests.     He,  form'd  to  bear 
The  pelting  brunt  of  tlie  tempestuous  night, 
With  half-shut  eyes,  and  pucker'd  cheeks,  and  teeth 
Presented  bare  against  the  storm,  plods  on.  353 

One  liand  secures  his  hat,  save  when  Avith  both 
He  brandishes  his  pliant  length  of  whip, 
Resounding  oft,  and  never  heard  in  vain. 
Oh,  happy !  and,  in  my  account,  denied 
That  sensibility  of  pain  with  wdiich 
Reflnement  is  endued,  thrice  happy  thou! 
Thy  frame,  robust  and. hardy,  feels  indeed 
The  piercing  cold,  but  feels  it  unimpair'd. 
The  learned  flnger  never  need  explore 
Thy  vigorous  pulse  ;  and  the  unhealthful  east, 
That  breathes  the  spleen,  and  searches  every  bone     30 1 


240  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  the  inlirin,  is  wliolesoine  air  to  tliee. 
Thy  days  roll  on  exempt  from  household  care; 
Thy  Avagon  is  thy  wife ;  and  the  poor  beasts 
That  drag  the  dull  companion  to  and  fro, 
Thine  helpless  charge,  dependent  on  thy  care. 
Ah,  treat  them  kindly !  rude  as  thou  appeal  ^st, 
Yet  show  that  thou  hast  mercy ;  which  the  great, 
^Ith  needless  hurry  whirl'd  from  place  to  place, 
Humane  as  they  would  seem,  not  always  show. 

Poor,  yet  industrious,  modest,  quiet,  neat —  374 

Sucli  claim  compassion  in  a  night  like  this,  •• 

And  have  a  friend  in  every  feeling  heart. 
"Warm'd,  while  it  lasts,  by  labor,  all  day  long 
They  brave  the  season,  and  yet  find  at  eve, 
111  clad,  and  fed  but  sparely,  time  to  cool. 
Tlie  frugal  housewife  trembles  when  she  lights 
Her  scanty  stock  of  brushwood,  blazing  clear. 
But  dying  soon,  like  all  terrestrial  joys. 
The  few  small  embers  left  she  nurses  well ; 
And,  while  her  infant  race,  with  outspread  hands. 
And  crowded  knees,  sit  cowering  o'er  the  sparks,       385 
Retires,  content  to  quake,  so  they  be  warm'd. 
The  man  feels  least,  as  more  inured  than  slie 
To  winter,  and  the  current  in  his  veins 
More  briskly  moved  by  his  severer  toil ; 
Yet  he  too  finds  his  own  distress  in  theirs. 
The  taper  soon  extinguish'd,  which  I  saw 
Dangled  along  at  the  cold  finger's  end 
Just  when  the  day  declined;  and  the  brown  loaf 
Lodged  on  the  shelf,  half-eaten  without  sauce 
Of  savory  cheese,  or  butter,  costlier  still ; 
Sleep  seems  their  only  refuge:  for,  alas!  30G 

"Where  penury  is  felt  the  thought  is  chain'd. 
And  sweet  colloquial  pleasures  are  but  few. 
AVith  all  this  thrift,  they  thrive  not.     All  the  care 
Ingenious  parsimony  takes,  but  just 
Saves  the  small  inventory,  bed  and  stool. 
Skillet  and  old  carved  chest,  from  public  sale. 
Tliey  live,  and  live  without  extyrted  alms 
From  grudging  hands,  but  other  boast  have  none 
To  soothe  their  honest  pride,  that  scorns  to  beg; 

.   Nor  comfort  else,  but  in  their  mutual  love. 

\  il  P3ise  you  mucli,  ye  meek  and  patient  pair, ^        407 


THE    TASK.  241 

F^i^^^iiiUlcjkVortlij ;  choo_sing  ratlicr  _^  I  | 
A^clry. -luit-imlependent  crust  hard  e:irn'd, 
And  eaten  witli  a  sigh,  tlian  to  ciidiiro 
TrieTiigged  frowns  and  insolent  rebuH'i'  \  \ 
Oflfnaves  in  office,  partial  in  tlie  worlc^  \ 

OTcTlsIriljution ;  liberal  of  their  aid 

To^clanioroil'5'Importunity  in  rags. 

But  ofttimes  deaf  to  suppliants,  who  would  blush 

To  wear  a  tatter'd  garb  however  coarse. 

Whom  famine  cannot  reconcile  to  tikh :  417 

These  ask  with  painful  shyness,  and  refused 

l^ecause  deserving,  silently  retire. 

Ikit  be  ye  of  good  courage !    Time  itself 

Shall  much  befriend  you.    Time  shall  give  increase; 

And  all  your  numerous  progeny,  well  train'd 

But  helpless,  in  few  years  shall  find  their  hands, 

And  labor  too.    Meanwhile  ye  shall  not  want 

What,  conscious  of  your  virtues,  we  can  spare ; 

Nor  what  a  wealthier  than  ourselves  may  send. 

I  mean  the  man,^  who,  when  the  distant  poor 

Need  help,  denies  them  nothing  but  his  name.  428 

But  poverty,  with  most  who  whimper  forth 
Their  long  complaints,  is  self-inflicted  woe; 
The  effect  of  laziness  or  sottisli  waste. 
Now  goes  the  nightly  thief  prowling  abroad 
For  plunder;  much  solicitous  how  best 
He  may  compensate  for  a  day  of  sloth 
By  works  of  darkness  and  nocturnal  wn"ong. 
Woe  to  the  gardener's  pale,  the  farmer's  hedge, 
Plash'd  neatly,  and  secured  with  driven  stakes  ^ 

Deep  in  the  loamy  bank !    Uptorn  by  strength, 
Kesistless  in  so  bad  a  cause,  but  lame  439 

To  better  deeds,  lie  bundles  up  the  spoil. 
An  ass's  burden  ;  and,  when  laden  most 
And  heaviest,  light  of  foot  steals  fast  away. 
Nor  does  the  boarded  hovel  better  guard 
The  well-stack'd  |)ile  of  riven  logs  and  roots 
From  his  pernicious  force.    Nor  will  he  leave 
Unwrench'd  the  door,  ho\yever  well  secured, 
AVhere  Chanticleer  amidst  his  harem  sleeps 
In  unsuspecting  pomp.    Twitcli'd  from  the  perch, 
He  gives  the  princely  bird,  with  all  his  wives, 

1  John  Thornton. 
21 


242  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  his  Yoi-acious  bag,  struggling  in  vam, 

And  loudly  wondering  at  the  sudden  change. 

Kor  this  to  feed  his  own.    'Twere  some  excuse, 

Did  pity  of  their  sufferings  warp  aside 

His  principle,  and  tempt  him  into  sin 

For  their  support,  so  destitute.  But  they 

^Neglected  pine  at  home ;  tliemselves,  as  more 

Exposed  than  others,  with  less  scruple  made 

His  victims,  robb'd  of  their  defenceless  all. 

Cruel  is  all  ho  does.    'Tis  quenchless  thirst  45 

Of  ruinous  ebriety  that  prompts 

His  every  action,  and  imbrutes  the  man. 

Oh  for  a  law  to  noose  the  villain's  neck 

AYlio  starves  his  own!  who  persecutes  the  blood 

He  gave  them  in  his  children's  veins,  and  hates 

And  wrongs  the  woman  he  has  sworn  to  love ! 

Pass  where  we  may,  through  city  or  through  town, 
Village,  or  hamlet,  of  this  merry  land. 
Though  lean  and  beggar'd,  every  twentieth  pace 
Conducts  the  unguarded  nose  to  such  a  whiff 
Of  stale  debauch,  forth  issuing  from  the  styes  47 

That  Law  has  licensed,  as  makes  Temperance  reel. 
There  sit,  involved  and  lost  in  curling  clouds 
Of  Indian  fume,  and  guzzling  deep,  the  boor. 
The  lackey,  and  the  groom :  the  craftsman  there 
Takes  a  Lethean  leave  of  all  his  toil ; 
Smith,  cobbler,  joiner,  he  that  plies  the  shears, 
And  he  that  kneads  the  dough ;  all  loud  alike, 
"     All  ]p{],]-]]{^f1i  find  fill  ^]mnk !  ^  The  fiddle  screams 
Plaintive  and  piteous,  as  it  wept  and  wail'd 
Its  wasted  tones  and  harmony  unheard : 
Fierce  the  dispute,  whatever  the  theme :  while  she,     48 
Fell  Discord,  arbitress  of  such  debate, 
Perch'd  on  the  sign-post,  holds  with  even  hand 
Iler  undecisive  scales.    In  this  she  lays 
A  weight  of  ignorance ;  in  that  of  pride ; 
And  smiles  delighted  with  the  eternal  poise. 
Dire  is  the  frequent  curse,  and  its  twin  sound. 
The  cheek-distending  oath,  not  to  be  praised 
As  ornamental,  nmsical,  polite. 
Like  those  which  modern  senators  employ, 
Whose  oath  is  rhetoric, ^nd  who  swear  for  fame! 
Behold  the  schools  in  which  plebeian  minds,  49 


/ 


TPIE    TASK.  243 

Once  simple,  are  initiated  in  arts 

Wliicli  some  may  practise  witli  politer  grace, 

But  none  with  readier  skill !    'Tis  here  they  learn 

The  road  that  leads  from  competence  and  peace 

To  indigence  and  rapine ;  till  at  last 

Society,  grown  weary  of  the  load. 

Shakes  her  encumber'd  lap,  and  casts  them  out. 

But  censure  profits  little :  vain  the  attempt 

To  advertise  in  verse  a  public  pest. 

That,  like  the  filtli  witlrwhich  ttTQ  peasant  feeds         502 

His  hungry  acres,  stinks,  and  is  of  use. 

The  excise  is  fattened  with  the  rich  result 

Of  all  this  riot ;  and  ten  thousand  casks. 

Forever  dribbling  out  their  base  contents, 

Touch'd  by  the  Midas  finger  of  the  State, 

Bleed  gold  for  ministers  to  sport  away. 

Drink,  and  be  mad,  then !  'tis  your  country  bids ! 

Gloriously  drunk,  obey  the  important  call ! 

Her  cause  demands  the  assistance  of  your  throats ; — 

Ye  all  can  swallow,  and  she  asks  no  more. 

Would  1  had  fallen  upon  those  happier  days  513 

That  poets  celebrate !  those  golden  times. 
And  those  Arcadian  scenes,  that  Maro  sings. 
And  Sidney,  warbler  of  poetic  prose. 
Nymphs  were  Dianas  then,  and  swains  had  hearts 
That  felt  their  virtues :  Innocence,  it  seems. 
From  courts  dismissed,  found  shelter  in  the  groves ; 
The  footsteps  of  Simplicity,  impress'd 
Upon  the  yielding  herbage  (so  they  sing). 
Then  were  not  all  effaced :  then  speech  profane, 
And  manners  profligate,  were  rarely  found. 
Observed  as  prodigies,  and  soon  reclaimed.  524 

Vain  wish!  those  days  w^ere  never :  airy  dreams 
Sat  for  the  picture ;  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Grant  it :  1  still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favor'd  such  a  dream ;  in  days  like  these 
Impossible,  when  Virtue  is  so  scarce. 
That,  to  suppose  a  scene  where  she  presides, 
Is  tramontane,  and  stumbles  all  belief. 
No!     We  are  polish \l  now.     The  rural.Iass, .r 
Whom  once  her  virgin  modesty  aiidJgSiGef — J 


535 


I 


244  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  Her  artless  manners,  and  her  neat  attire, 
j  1  So  dignified,  that  she  was  iiardly  less 
i|  Than  the  fair  shepherdess  of  old  romance, 
1    Is  seen  no  more.     The  character  is  lost ! 
I  Her  head,  adorn'd  wtthTlappets  pihh\raloft, 
And  ribbons  streaming  gay,  superbly  raised. 
And  magnified  beyond  all  human  size. 
Indebted  to  some  smart  Avig-weaver's  hand 
For  more  than  half  the  tresses  it  sustains; 
Her  elbows  ruffled,  and  her  tottering  form  545 

111  pro{)p"d  upon  French  heels;  she  might  be  deem'd 
(But  that  the  basket  dangling  on  her  arm 
Interprets  her  more  truly)  of  a  rank 
Too  proud  for  dairy  worl>,  or  sale  of  eggs. 
Expect  her  soon  Avith  footboy  at  her  heels. 
No  longer  blushing  for  her  awkward  load. 
Her  train  and  her  umbrella  all  her  care ! 
1  The  town  has  tingled  the  country :  and  the  stfi^p 

;      Appears  a  spot  upon  a  vest{^]^^  ro1-n.\ 
;     The  Avorse  for  wiiat  it  soils.     The  fashion  runs 
j     Down  into  scenes  still  rural ;  but,  alas !  556 

Scenes  rarely  graced  with  rural  manners  now. 
Time  was  Avhen,  in  the  pastoral  retreat, 
j     The  unguarded  door  Avas  safe ;  men  did  not  Awatch 

To  inwade  another's  riglit,  or  guard  their  OAvn. 
I     Then  sleep  Avas  undisturbed  by  fear,  unscared 
;     By  drunken  bowlings ;  and  the  chilling  tale 
Of  midnight  murder  was  a  Avonder  heard 
With  doubtful  credit,  told  to  frigliten  babes. 
'     But  farcAvell  now  to  unsuspicious  nights. 

And  slumbers  unalarm'd !     Noav,  ere  you  sleep, 

See  that  your  polish VI  arms  be  primed  Avith  care,        567 

And  drop  the  nightbolt :  ruffians  are  abro'ad  ; 

And  the  first  larum  of  the  cock's  shrill  throat 

May  proA^e  a  trumpet,  summoning  your  ear 

To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  Avithin. 

Even  daylight  has  its  dangers  ;  and  the  Avalk 

Through  pathless  wastes  and  Avoods,  unconscious  once 

Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds. 

Or  harmless  flocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold. 

Lamented  change !  to  Avhich  full  many  a  cause 

luA'eterate,  hopeless  of  a  cure,  conspires. 

The  course  of  human  things  from  good  to  ill,  57' 


THE    TASK.  .      245 

From  ill  to  worse,  is  fatal,  never  foils. 
Increase  of  power  begets  increase  of  wealth , 
AVealth  luxury,  and  luxury  excess ; 
Excess,  the  scrofulous  and  itchy  plague 
That  seizes  first  the  opulent,  descends 
To  the  next  rank  contagious,  and  in  time 
Taints  downward  all  the  graduated  scale 
Of  order,  from  the  chariot  to  the  plough. 
Tlie  ricli,  and  they  that  have  an  arm  to  check 
The  license  of  the  lowest  in  degree,  588 

Desert  their  office;  and  themselves,  intent 
On  pleasure,  haunt  the  capital,  and  thus 
To  all  the  violence  of  lawless  hands 
Eesign  the  scenes  their  presence  might  protect. 
Authority  herself  not  seldom  sleeps, 
Tliough  resident,  and  witness  of  the  wrongs— — 
The  plump  convivial  parson  often  bears 
The  magisterial  sword  in  vain,  and  lays 
His  reverence  and  his  worship  both  to  rest 
On  the  same  cushion  of  liabitual  sloth. 
-Perhaps  timidity  restrains  his  arm;  599 

AVhen  he  should  strike  he  trembles,  and  sets  free, 
Himself  enslaved  by  terror  of  the  band. 
The  audacious  convict,  whom  he  dares  not  bind. 
Perhaps,  though  by  profession  ghostly  pure. 
He  too  may  have  his  vice,  and  sometimes  prove 
Less  dainty  than  becomes  his  grave  outside 
In  lucrative  concerns.     Examine  well 
His  milk-white  haml :  the  palm  is  hardly  clean — 
But  here  and  there  an  ugly  smutch  appears. 
Fob !  'twas  a  bribe  that  left  it :  he  has  touch'd 
Corruption.     Whoso  seeks  an  audit  here  610 

Propitious,  pays  his  tribute,  game  or  fish, 
AVild  fowl  or  venison,  and  his  errand  speeds. 
But  faster  far,  and  more  than  all  the  rest, 
A  noble  cause,  which  none  who  bears  a  spark 
Of  public  virtue  ever  wish'd  removed, 
"Works  the  deplored  and  mischievous  effect. 
'Tis  universal  soldiership  has  stabb'd 
The  heart  of  merit  in  the  meaner  class. 
Arms,  through  the  vanity  and  brainless  rage 
Of  those  that  bear  them,  in  whatever  cause. 
Seem  most  at  variance  with  all  moral  good,  C21 


246  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  incompfitible  witli  serious  tlionglit. 

The  clown,  the  cliiki  of  nature,  without  guile, 

Blest  with  an  infant's  ignorance  of  all 

But  his  own  simple  pleasures, — now  and  then 

A  w^restling  niatclj,  a  foot-race,  or  a  fair, — 

Is  balloted,  and  trembles  at  the  news. 

Sheepish  he  doffs  his  hat,  and  mumbling  swears 

A  Bible-oath  to  be  Avhate'er  they  please — 

To  do  he  knows  not  what.     The  task  perform VI, — 

That  instant  he  l)ecomes  the  Serjeant's  care. 

His  pupil,  and  his  torment,  and  his  jest. 

His  awkward  gait,  his  introverted  toes. 

Bent  knees,  round  shoulders,  and  dejected  looks. 

Procure  him  many  a  curse.     By  slow  degrees. 

Unapt  to  learn,  and  form'd  of  stubborn  stuff. 

He  yet  by  slow  degrees  puts  off  himself. 

Grows  conscious  of  a  change,  and  likes  it  well. 

He  stands  erect ;  his  slouch  becomes  a  walk  ; 

He  steps  right  onward,  martial  in  his  air. 

His  form,  and  movement ;  is  as  smart  above 

As  meal  and  larded  locks  can  make  him ;  wears 

His  hat,  or  his  plumed  helmet,  with  a  grace ; 

And,  his  three  years  of  heroship  expired. 

Returns  indignant  to  the  slighted  plough. 

He  hates  the  field,  in  which  no  fife  or  drum 

Attends  -him ;  drives  his  cattle  to  a  march  ; 

And  sighs  for  the  smart  comrades  he  has  left. 

'TAvere  Avell  if  his  exterior  change  were  all — 

But  with  his  clumsy  port  the  wretch  has  lost 

His  ignorance  and  harmless  manners  too. 

To  sw^ear,  to  game,  to  drink;  to  show  at  home, 

]^y  lewdness,  idleness,  and  Sabbath-breach, 

The  great  proficiency  he  made  abroad ; 

To  astonish  and  to  grieve  his  gazing  friends ; 

To  break  some  maiden's  and  his  mother's  heart; 

To  be  a  pest  Avhere  he  was  useful  once ; 

Are  his  sole  aim,  and  all  his  glory  now. 

Man  in  society  is  like  a  fiower 
I}lown  in  its  native  bed :  'tis  there  alone 
His  faculties,  expanded  in  full  bloom, 
Shine  out;  there  only  reach  their  proper  use. 
l)Ut  man,  associated  and  leagued  with  man 
By  regal  warrant,  or  self-join'.d  by  bond 


THE   TASK.  247 

For  interest  sake,  or  swarming  into  clans 
Beneath  one  head,  for  purposes  of  war. 
Like  flowers  selected  from  tlie  rest,  and  bound 
And  bundled  close  to  fill  some  crowded  vase, 
Fades  rapidly,  and,  by  compression  marr'd. 
Contracts  defilement  not  to  be  endured. 
Hence  diarter'd  boroughs  are  such  public. plagues; 
And  bui'gliers,  men  immaculate  perhaps 
In  allTlretr  private  functions,  once  coiiibined. 
Become  a  loathsome  body,  only  fit  G^4 

For  dissolution,  hurtful  to  the  main. 
Hence  merchants,  unimpeachable  of  sin 
Against  the  charities  of  domestic  life, 
Incorporated,  seem  at  once  to  lose 
Their  nature ;  and,  disclaiming  all  regard 
For  mercy  and  the  common  rights  of  man. 
Build  factories  with  blood ;  conducting  trade 
At  the  sword's  point,  and  dyeing  the  white  robe 
Of  innocent  commercial  Justice  red. 
Hence  too  the  field  of  glory,  as  the  world 
Misdeems  it,  dazzled  by  its  bright  array,  G85 

With  all  its  majesty  of  thundering  pomp,. 
Enchanting  music  and  immortal  wreaths. 
Is  but  a  school  where  thoughtlessness  is  taught 
On  principle,  where  foppery  atones 
For  folly,  gallantry  for  every  vice.  • 
Bu^,  slighted  as  it  iSjL  and  by  the  great 
Abandoned,  and,  which  stTIiTTnore  regret. 
Infected  with  the  manners  and  tlrc~lliTa(te 
It  knew  not  once,  the  country  wins  me  still. 
I  never  fi-amed  a  wish,  or  form'd  a  plan,     '     '^ 
That  flatter'd  me  with  hopes  of  eartlily  bliss,  696 

I^ut  there  I  laid  the  scene.     There  early  stray'd 
My  fancy,  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice  i 

Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  being  free.  \ 

My  very  dreains  were  rural ;  rural  too  *  ^ 

The-^rsCTm-n  e!!orfrof  myToufhfii^ 
Sportive  and  jingling  her  poetic  bells. 
Ere  yet  her  ear  was  mistress  of  their  powers. 
No  bard  could  please  me  but  whose  lyre  Was  tuned 
To  Nature's  praises.     Heroes  and  their  feats 
Fatigued  me,  never  weary  of  the  pipe 
Of  Tityrus,  assembling,  as  he  sang,  707 


■ 


V, 


248  COWPERS   POETICAL   WORKS. 

The  rustic  tliroDg  beneath  his  favorite  beech. 
Then  Milton  had  indeed  a  poet's  charms : 
New  to  my  taste,  his  Paradise  snrpass'd 
The  struggling  efforts  of  my  boyisli  tongue 
To  speak  its  excellence :  I  danced  for  joy.         ^ 
1  marvell'd  much  that,  at  so  ripe  an  age 
As  twice  seven  years,  his  beauties  had  then  first 
Engaged  my  wonder ;  and  admiring  still, 
And  still  admiring,  with  regret  supposed 
The  joy  half  lost,  because  not  sooner  found.  717 

Thee  too,  enamor'd  of  the  life  I  loved. 
Pathetic  in  its  praise,  in  its  pursuit 
Determined,  and  possessing  it  at  last 
'With  transports  such  as  favor'd  lovers  feel, 
I  studied,  prized,  and  wished  that  1  had  known, 
Ingenious  Cowle}^ !  and,  though  now  reclaim'd, 
By  modern  lights,  from  an  erroneous  taste, 
I  cannot  but  lament  thy  splendid  wit 
Entangled  in  the  cobwebs  of  the  schools. 
I  still  revere  thee,  courtly  though  retired, 
Though  stretch VI  at  ease  in  Chertsey's  silent  bowers,   728 
Not  unemployed ;  and  finding  rich  amends 
For  a  lost  world,  in  solitude  and  verse. 
'Tis  born  with  all :  the  love  of  Nature's  works 
Is  an  ingredient  in  the  compound  man, 
Infused  at  the  creation  of  the  kind. 
(And,  though  the  Almighty  Maker  has  throughout 
fDiscriminated  each  from  each,  by  strokes 
;  (And  touches  of  his  hand,  with  so  much  art 
i  ^Diversified,  that  two  were  never  found 
;  iTwins  at  all  points — yet  this  obtains  in  all, 
;  jThat  all  discern  a  beauty  in  his  works,  739 

I  And  all  can  taste  them  :  imrids  that  liave  been  form'd 
And  tutorVl  with  a  relish  more  exact. 
But  none  without  some  relish,  none  unmoved. 
It  is  a  flame  that  dies  not  even  there. 
Where  nothing  feeds  it.     Neither  business,  crowds, 
Nor  habits  of  luxurious  city  life, 
AYliatever  else  they  smother  of  true  worth 
In  human  bosoms,  quench  it  or  abate. 
The  villas  with  which  London  stands  begirt, 
Like  a  swarth  Indian  with  his  belt  of  beads. 
Prove  it.    A  breath  of  unadulterate  air,    - 


^/ 


THE    TASK. 


240 


760 


Tlie  glimpse  o.  a  green  pasture,  liow  they  cheer 

The  citizen,  and  brace  his  hmguid  frame! 

Even  in  the  stifling  bosom  of  tlie  town, 

A  garden,  in  wliicli  nothing  thrives,  has  cliarms 

That  soothe  tlie  rich  possessor ;  much  consoled 

That  liere  and  there  sonie  sprigs  of  mournful  mint, 

Of  nightshade,  or  valerian,  grace  the  well 

He  cultivates.     These  serve  liim  with  a  hint 

That  Nature  lives;  that  sight-refreshing  green 

Is  still  the  livery  she  delights  to  wear. 

Though  sickly  samples  of  the  exuberant  whole. 

What  are  the  casements  lined  with  creeping  herbs, 

The  prouder  sashes  fronted  with  a  range 

Of  orange,  myrtle,  or  the  fragrant  weed. 

The  Frenchman's  darling  ?^     Are  they  not  all  proofs 

That  man,  immured  in  cities,  still  retains 

His  inborn  inextinguishable  thirst 

Of  rural  scenes,  compensating  his  loss 

By  supplemental  shifts  the  best  he  may  ? 

The  most  unfurnish'd  with  the  means  of  life. 

And  they  that  never  pass  their  brick-wall  bounds      771 

To  range  the  fields,,  and  treat  their  lungs  witli  air, 

Yet  feel  the  burning  instinct;  over-head 

Suspend  their  crazy  boxes,  planted  thick, 

And  water'd  duly.     There  the  pitcher  stands 

A  fragment,  and  the  spoutless  teapot  there ; 

Sad  witnesses  how  close-pent  man  regrets 

The  country,  with  what  ardor  he  contrives 

A  peep  at  Nature,  when  he  can  no  more. 

Hail,  therefore,  nnt.ronpss  of  health  and  case^ 
And  contemplati on,  heart-f^onsolin.o'  joys. 
And  Jmriiiloss  pl(,^^^,c^n^res^  in  the  throngVl  abodej 
Of  multitudes  unknown  !  liffil,  i-i^i'^]  )i£(^ ! 
Address  himself  who  will  to  the  pursuit 
Of  honors,  or  emolument," or  fame ; 
I  shall  not  add  myself  to  such  a  chase, 
Thwart  his  attempts,  or  envy  his  success. 
Some  must  be  great.     Great  offices  will  have 
Great  talents.     And  "God  gives  to  every  man 
The  virtue,  temper,  understanding,  taste. 
That  lifts  him  into  life ;  and  l(its  him  fall 
Just  in  the  niche  he  was  ordain'd  to  fill. 
*  Mignonette. 


250  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

To  the  deliverer  of  an  injured  land 

He  gives  a  tongue  to  enlarge  upon,  a  heart 

To  feel,  and  courage  to  redress  her  wrongs ; 

To  nionarchs  dignity ;  to  judges  sense ; 

To  artists  ingenuity  and  skill ; 

To  me  an  unambitious  mind,  content 

In  the  low  vale  of  life,  that  early  felt 

A  wish  for  ease  and  leisure,  and  ere  long 

Found  here  that  leisure  and  that  ease  I  wish'd. 


BOOK  V.-TIIE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

A  frosty  morning,  1— The  foddering  of  cattle,  27— The  woodman  and  his  dog,  41— 
The  poultry,  68— Wl.imsio!^  effects  of  a  frost  at  a  waterfall,  96— The  Empress  of 
Russia's  palace  of  ice,  IjZ^-jAmusements  of  monarchs,  UTJ-War,  one  of  them,  185 
—Wars,  whence,  193— And  whence  monarchy,  230— The  evils  of  it,  242— English 
and  French  loyalty  contrasted,  346— The  Bastile,  and  a  prisoner  there,  379— Lib- 
erty the  chief  recommendation  of  this  country,  446— Modern  patriotism  question- 
able, and  whj\  491— The  perishable  nature  of  the  best  human  institutions,  509— 
Spiritual  liberty  not  perishable,  538— The  slavish  state  of  man  by  nature,  SSI- 
Deliver  hira,  Deist,  if  you  can,  670— Grace  must  do  it,  688— The  respective  merits 
of  patriots  and  martyrs  stated,  704— Their  different  treatment,  707,  718— Happy 
freedom  of  the  man  whom  grace  makes  free,  733— liis  relish  of  the  works  of  God, 
779— Address  to  the  Creator,  845. 

'Tis  morning;  and  the  sun,  Avitli  ruddy  orb 

Ascending,  tires  tlie  liorizon ;  while  the  clouds, 

That  crowd  away  before  the  driving  wind. 

More  ardent  as  the  disk  emerges  more, 

Resemble  most  some  city  in  a  blaze, 

Seen  throngh  the  leafless  wood.     His  slanting  ray 

Slides  ineffectual  down  the  snowy  vale, 

And,  tingeing  all  with  his  own  rosy  hue, 

From  every  herb  and  every  spiry  blade  9 

Stretches  a  length  of  shadow  o'er  the  field. 

Mine,  spindling  into  longitude  immense, 

In  spite  of  gravity,  and  sage  remark 

That  I  myself  am  but  a  fleeting  shade. 

Provokes  me  to  a  smile.     With  eye  askance 

I  view  the  muscular  proportioned  limb 

TransformVl  to  a  lean  shank.     The  shapeless  pair, 

As  they  designed  to  mock  me,  at  my  side 

Take  step  for  step ;  and,  as  I  near  approach 

The  cottage,  walk  along  the  plastered  wall. 

Preposterous  sight !  the  legs  without  the  man  20 


252  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  verdure  of  the  plain  lies  huried  deep 

Beneath  the  dazzling  deluge ;  and  the  bents, 

And  coarser  grass,  upspearing  o'er  the  rest, 

Of  late  unsightly  and  unseen,  now  shine 

Conspicuous,  and  in  bright  apparel  clad,        / 

And,  fledged  with  icy  feathers,  nod  superlv-^ 

The  cattle  mourn  in  corners,  where  the  fence 

Screens  them,  and  seem  half  petrified  to  sleep 

In  unrecumbent  sadness.     There  they  wait 

Their  w^onted  fodder ;  not  like  hungering  man,  80 

Fretful  if  unsupplied ;  but  silent,  meek. 

And  patient  of  the  sIoav- paced  swain's  dela}' . 

He  from  the  stack  carves  out  the  accustom'd  load, 

Deep  plunging,  and  again  deep  i)lunging  oft 

His  broad  keen  knife  into  the  solid  mass. 

Smooth  as  a  wall  the  upright  remnant  stands, 

With  such  undeviating  and  even  force 

He  severs  it  away :  no  needless  care. 

Lest  storms  should  overset  the  leaning  pile  / 

Deciduous,  or  its  own  unbalanced  weight^J 

Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving  unconcern'd  41 

The  cheerful  haunts  of  man ;  to  wield  the  axe, 
And  drive  the  wedge,  in  yonder  forest  drear. 
From  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
Shaggy,  and  lean,  and  shrewd,  with  pointed  ears. 
And  tail  cropp'd  short,  half  lurcher  and  half  cur. 
His  dog  attends  liim.     Close  behind  his  heel 
Now  creeps  he  slow ;  and  now,  with  many  a  frisk 
Wide  scampering,  snatches  uj)  the  drifted  snow 
With  ivory  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout; 
Then  shakes  his  powder'd  coat,  and  barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  churl  52 

Moves  right  toward  the  mark ;  nor  stops  for  aught. 
But  now  and  then,  with  pressure  of  his  thumb 
To  adjust  the  fragrant  ciiarge  of  a  short  tube. 
That  fumes  beneath  his  nose :  the  trailing  cloud 
Streams  far  behind  him,  scenting  all  the  aii\/ 

Now  from  the  roost,  or  from  the  neighboring  pale 
Where,  diligent  to  catch  the  first  faint  gleam 
Of  smiling  day,  they  gossipp'd  side  by  side. 
Gome  trooping  at  the  housewife's  well-knowi?  <:iall 
The  feather'd  tribes  domestic.     Half  on  wing, 
And  half  ou  foot,  they  brush  the  fieecy  flood,  Co 


THE    TASK.  253 

Conscious  and  fearful  of  too  deep  a  plunge. 
The  sparrows  peep,  and  quit  the  sheltering  eaves, 
To  seize  the  fair  occasion  ;  well  they  eye 
Tiie  scatter'd  grain,  and  thievishly  resolved 
To  escape  the  impending  famine,  often  scared 
As  oft  return,  a  pert  voracious  kind. 
Clean  riddance  quickly  made,  one  only  care 
Remains  to  each,  the  search  of  sunny  nook, 
Or  shed  impervious  to  the  blast.     Resign'd 
^  To  sad  necessity,  the  cock  foregoes  73: 

His  wonted  strut ;  and,  wading  at  their  head 
"With  well-consider'd  steps,  seems  to  resent 
His  alter'd  gait  and  stateliness  retrench'd. 
How  find  the  myriads,  that  in  summer  cheer 
The  hills  and  valleys  with  their  ceaseless  songs. 
Due  sustenance,  or  where  subsist  they  now  ? 
Earth  yields  them  naught:  the  imprison'd  worm  is  safe 
Beneath  the  frozen  clod ;  all  seeds  of  herbs 
Lie  coverVl  close ;  and  berry -bearing  thorns 
That  feed  the  thrush  (whatever  some  suppose) 
Afford  the  smaller  minstrels  no  supply.  84 

The  long-protracted  rigor  of  the  year 
Thins  all  their  numerous  flocks.     In  chinks  and  holes 
Ten  thousand  seek  an  unmolested  end. 
As  instinct  prompts,  self-buried  ere  they  die. 
The  very  rooks  and  daws  forsake  the  fields, 
AVhere  neither  grub,  nor  root,  nor  earth-nut  now 
Repays  their  labor  more ;  and  perch'd  aloft 
By  the  wayside,  or  stalking  in  the  path. 
Lean  pensioners  upon  the  traveller's  track. 
Pick  up  their  nauseous  dole,  though  sweet  to  them. 
Of  voided  pulse  or  half-digested  grain.      /'  95 

The  streams  are  lost  amid  the  splendid  blank, 
O'erwhelming  all  distinction.     On  the  flood, 
Indurated  and  fix'd,  the  snowy  weight 
Lies  undissolved ;  while  silently  beneath. 
And  unperceived,  the  current  steals  away. 
Not  so  where,  scornful  of  a  check,  it  leaps 
The  mill-dam,  dashes  on  the  restless  wheel, 
And  wantons  in  the  pebbly  gulf  below : 
No  frost  can  bind  it  there ;  its  utmost  force 
Can  but  arrest  the  light  and  smoky  mist 
That  in  its  fall  the  liquid  sheei  throws  wide.  lOG 

22 


254  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Ancl  see  where  it  has  hung  the  embroidered  banks 
"With  forms  so  various,  that  no  powers  of  art, 
The  pencil  or  the  pen,  may  trace  the  scene  1 
-'    Here  ghttering  turrets  rise,  upbearing  high 
(Fantastic  misarrangement !)  on  the  roof 
Large  growth  of  what  may  seem  the  sparkling  trees 
And  shrubs  of  faivy-land.     The  crystal  drops, 
That  trickle  down  the  branches,  fast  congeaFd, 
Shoot  into  pillars  of  pellucid  length, 
And  prop  the  pile  they  but  adorn'd  before.  110 

Here,  grotto  within  grotto  safe  defies 
The  sunbeam :  there,  emboss'd  and  fretted  wild, 
Tlie  growing  wonder  takes  a  thousand  shapes 
Capricious,  in  which  fancy  seeks  in  vain 
The  likeness  of  some  object  seen  before. 
\  Thus  ISTature  works  as  if  to  mock  at  Art, 
I  And  in  defiance  of  her  rival  powers ; 
By  these  fortuitous  and  random  strokes 
Performing  such  inimitable  feats 
As  she  Avith  all  her  rules  can  never  reach./ 

Less  worthy  of  applause,  though  more  admired,^      12'? 
Because  a  novelty,  the  work  of  man. 
Imperial  mistress  of  the  far-clad  Russ ! 
Thy  most  magnificent  and  mighty  freak, 
The  wonder  of  the  North.    No  forest  fell 
When  thou  wouldst  build;  no  quarry  sent  its  stores 
To  enricli  thy  walls :  but  thou  didst  liew  the  floods. 
And  make  thy  marble  of  the  glassy  wave. 
In  such  a  palace  Arista^us  found 
Cyrene,  when  he  bore  the  plaintive  tale 
Of  his  lost  bees  to  her  maternal  ear. 
In  such  a  palace  Poetry  might  place  13$ 

The  armory  of  Winter,  where  his  troops. 
The  gloomy  clouds,  find  weapons,  arrowy  sleet. 
Skin-piercing  volley,  blossom-bruising  hail. 
And  snow,  that  often  blinds  the  traveller's  course, 
And  wraps  him  in  an  unexpected  tomb. 
Silently  as  a  dream  the  fabric  rose ; 
No  sound  of  hammer  or  of  saw  was  there. 
Ice  upon  ice,  the  well-adjusted  parts 
Were  soon  conjoined;  nor  other  cement  ask'd 
Than  water  interfused  to  make  them  one. 
Lamps  gracefully  disposed,  and  of  all  hues,  l^C 


THE    TASK. 


255 


Illamined  every  side :  a  watery  light 

Gleani'd  through  the  clear  transparency,  that  seem'd 

Anotlier  moon  new  risen,  or  meteor  fallen 

From  heaven  to  earth,  of  lambent  flame  serene. 

So  stood  the  brittle  prodigy ;  though  smooth 

And  slippery  the  materials,  yet  frost-bound 

Firm  as  a  rock.     Nor  wanted  aught  within, 

That  royal  residence  might  well  befit. 

For  grandeur  or  for  use.     Long  w\avy  wreaths 

Of  floAvers,  that  fearM  no  enemy  but  warmth, 

Blush'd  on  the  panels.    Mirror  needed  none 

Where  all  w^as  vitreous ;  but  in  order  due 

Convivial  table  and  commodious  seat 

(What  seem'd  at  least  commodious  seat)  wxre  there ; 

Sofa,  and  couch,  and  high-built  throne  august. 

The  same  lubricity  was  found  in  all. 

And  all  was  moist  to  the  warm  touch  ;  a  scene 

Of  evanescent  glory,  once  a  stream, 

And  soon  to  slide  into  a  stream  again. 

Alas!  'twas  but  a  mortifying  stroke 

Of  undesign'd  severity,  that  glanced 

(Made  by  a  monarch)  on  her  own  estate. 

On  human  grandeur  and  the  courts  of  kings. 

'Twas  transient  in  its  nature,  as  in  show 

'Twas  durable ;  as  worthless,  as  it  seem'd 

Intrinsically  precious ;  to  the  foot 

Treacherous  and  false ;  it  smiled,  and  it  wa_a 


159 


170 


Great  princes  have  great  playthings.   Some 
At  hewing  mountains  into  men,  and  some 
At  building  human  wonders  mountain-high. 
Some  have  amused  the  dull  sad  years  of  life 
(Life  spent  in  indolence,  and  therefore  sad) 
"With  schemes  of  monumental  fame ;  and  sought 
By  pyramids  and  mausolean  pomp, 
Short-lived  themselves,  to  immortalize  their  bones. 
Some  seek  diversion  in  the  tented  field. 
And  make  the  sorrows  of  mankind  their  sport. 
But  war's  a  game,  which,  were  their  subjects  wise, 
Kings  would  not  play  at.    ITations  would  do  well 
To  extort  their  truncheons  from  the  puny  hands 
Of  heroes,  whose  infirm  and  baby  minds 
Are  gratified  with  mischief;  and  who  spoil, 
Because  men  suffer  it,  their  toy  the  World. 


£QhL^f^C 

"Have  play'd 


181 


192 


I 


256  cowper's  poetical  works. 

When  Babel  was  confounded,  and  the  great 
Confederacy  of  projectors  wild  and  vain 
Was  split  into  diversity  of  tongues, 
Then,  as  a  shepherd  separates  liis  flock, 
These  to  the  upland,  to  the  valley  those, 
God  drave  asunder,  and  assign'd  tlieir  lot 
To  all  the  nations.    Ample  was  the  boon 
He  gave  them,  in  its  distribution  lair 
And  equal ;  and  he  bade  them  dwell  in  peace. 
Peace  was  awhile  their  care :  tliey  plough'd  and  sow'd  202 
And  reap'd  their  plenty  without  grudge  or  strife. 
But  violence  can  never  longer  sleep 
Than  human  passions  please.    In  every  heart 
Are  sown  the  sparks  that  kindle  fiery  war; 
Occasion  needs  but  fan  them,  and  thej  blaze. 
Cain  had  already  shed  a  brotlier's  blood : 
The  deluge  wash'd  it  out,  but  left  unquench'd 
The  seeds  of  murder  in  the  breast  of  man. 
Soon  by  a  righteous  judgment  in  the  line 
Of  his  descending  progeny  was  found 
The  first  artificer  of  death  ;  the  shrewd  213 

Contriver,  who  first  sweated  at  the  forge, 
And  forced  the  blunt  and  yet  unbloodied  steel 
To  a  keen  edge,  and  made  it  bright  for  war. 
Ijl^Him,  Tubal  named,  the  Vulcan  of  old  times, 
^   Tlie  sword  and  falchion  their  inventor  claim ; 
And  the  first  smith  was  the  first  murderer's  son. 
His  art  survived  the  waters ;  and  ere  long. 
When  man  was  multiplied  and  spread  abroad 
In  tribes  and  clans,  and  had  begun  to  call 
These  meadows  and  that  range  of  hills  his  own, 
The  tasted  sweets  of  property  begat  224 

Desire  of  more ;  and  industry  in  some 
To  improve  and  cultivate  their  just  demesne. 
Made  others  covet  what  they  saw  so  fair. 
Thus  war  began  on  earth :  these  fought  for  spoil, 
And  those  in  self-defence.    Savage  at  first 
The  onset,  and  irregular.    At  length. 
One  eminent  above  the  rest  for  strength, 
For  stratagem,  or  courage,  or  for  all. 
Was  chosen  leader :  him  they  served  in  war. 
And  him  in  peace,  for  sake  of  warlike  deeds 
Reverenced  no  less.  Who  could  with  him  compare  ?    235 


THE    TASK.  257 

Or  who  so  worthy  to  control  tliemselves 

As  he  whose  prowess  had  subdued  their  foes? 

Tlius  war,  affording  field  for  tlie  display 

Of  virtue,  made  one  chief,  whom  times  of  peace, 

Wliicli  have  their  exigencies  too,  and  call 

For  skill  in  government,  at  length  made  king. 

King  was  a  name  too  proud  for  man  to  w^ear 

Witli  modesty  and  meekness ;  and  the  crown, 

So  dazzling  in  their  eyes  who  set  it  on, 

AVas  sure  to  intoxicate  the  brows  it  bound.  245 

It  is  the  abject  property  of  most, 

TJiat,  being  parcel  of  the  common  mass, 

And  destitute  of  means  to  raise  themselves, 

They  sink,  and  settle  lower  than  they  need. 

They  know  not  what  it  is  to  feel  witliin 

A  comprehensive  faculty,  that  grasps 

Great  purposes  with  ease,  that  turns  and  wields, 

Almost  without  an  effort,  plans  too  vast 

For  tlieir  conception,  which  they  cannot  move. 

Conscious  of  impotence,  they  soon  grow  drunk 

With  gazing,  when  they  see  an  able  man  256 

Step  forth  to  notice ;  and,  besotted  thus. 

Build  him  a  pedestal,  and  say,  ''  Stand  there, 

And  be  our  admiration  and  our  praise." 

They  roll  themselves  before  him  in  the  dust. 

Then  most. deserving  in  their  own  account, 

When  most  extravagant  in  his  applause. 

As  if  exalting  him  they  raised  themselves. 

Thus  by  degrees,  self-cheated  of  their  sound 

And  sober  judgment,  that  he  is  but  man. 

They  demi-deify  and  fume  him  so, 

Tliat  in  due  season  he  forgets  it  too.  267 

Inflated  and  astrut  with  self-conceit, 

He  gulps  the  windy  diet,  and  ere  long, 

Adopting  their  mistake,  profoundly  thinks 

The  world  was  made  in  vain,  if  not  for  him. 

Thenceforth  they  are  his  cattle :  drudges,  born 

To  bear  his  burdens;  drawing  in  his  gears, 

And  sweating  in  his  service;  his  caprice 

Becomes  the  soul  that  animates  them  all. 

He  deems  a  thousand,  or  ten  thousand  lives. 

Spent  in  the  purchase  of  renown  for  him, 

An  easy  reckoning;  ^nd  they  think  the  same.  278 


258  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Thus  kings  were  first  invented,  and  thus  kings 

"Were  burnisli'd  into  heroes,  and  became 

The  arbiters  of  this  terraqueous  swamp ; 

Storks  among  frogs,  that  have  but  croak'd  and  died 

Strange,  that  sucli  folly  as  lifts  bloated  man 

To  eminence  fit  only  for  a  god, 

Should  ever  drivel  out  of  human  lips, 

Even  in  the  cradled  weakness  of  the  World ! 

Still  stranger  much,  that  when  at  length  mankind 

Had  reach'd  the  sinewy  firmness  of  their  youth,  288 

And  could  discriminate  and  argue  well 

On  subjects  more  mysterious,  they  were  yet 

Babes  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  should  fear 

And  quake  before  the  gods  themselves  had  made : 

But  above  measure  strange,  that  neither  proof 

Of  sad  experience,  nor  examples  set 

By  some,  whose  patriot  virtue  has  prevailed, 

Can  even  now,  when  they  are  grown  mature 

In  wisdom,  and  with  philosophic  deeps 

Familiar,  serve  to  emancipate  the  rest! 

Such  dupes  are  men  to  custom,  and  so  prone  299 

To  reverence  what  is  ancient,  and  can  plead 

A  course  of  long  observance  for  its  use. 

That  even  servitude,  the  worst  of  ills. 

Because  deliver'd  down  from  sire  to  son, 

Is  kept  and  guarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 

But  is  it  fit,  or  can  it  bear  the  shock 

Of  rational  discussion,  that  a  man, 

Compounded  and  made  up  like  other  men 

Of  elements  tumultuous,  in  wliom  lust 

And  folly  in  as  ample  measure  meet 

As  in  the  bosoms  of  the  slaves  he  rules,  810 

Should  be  a  despot  absolute,  and  boast 

Himself  the  only  freeman  of  his  land? — 

Should,  when  he  pleases,  and  on  whom  he  will, 

Wage  war,  with  any  or  with  no  pretence 

Of  provocation  given  or  wrong  sustain'd. 

And  force  the  beggarly  last  doit,  by  means 

That  his  own  humor  dictates,  from  the  clutch 

Of  Poverty,  that  thus  he  may  procure 

His  thousands,  weary  of  penurious  life, 

A  splendid  opportunity  to  die  ? 

Say  ye,  who  (with  less  prudence  than  of  old  321 


THE    TASK.  259 

Jotliam  ascribed  to  liis  assembled  trees 

In  politic  convention)  put  your  trust 

In  the  shadow  of  a  bramble,  and  reclined 

In  fancied  peace  beneath  his  dangerous  branch, 

Kejoice  in  him,  and  celebrate  his  sway — 

Wiiere  find  ye  passive  fortitude?    AVhence  springs 

Your  self-denying  zeal,  that  holds  it  good 

To  stroke  the  prickly  grievance,  and  to  bang 

His  thorns  with  streamers  of  continual  praise? 

We  too  are  friends  to  loyalty.    We  love  331 

The  king  who  loves  the  law,  respects  his  bounds, 

And  reigns  content  within  them :  him  Ave  serve 

Freely  and  with  delight,  who  leaves  us  free ; 

But  recollecting  still  that  he  is  man. 

We  trust  him  not  too  far.    King  thougli  he  be, 

And  king  in  England  too,  he  may  be  weak, 

And  vain  enough  to  be  ambitious  still;  \ 

May  exercise  amiss  his  proper  powers,     \ 

Or  covet  more  than  freemen  choose  to  grant ;        ,^ 

Beyond  that  mark  is  treason.    He  is  ours,  .        J) 

To  administer,  to  guard,  to  adorn  the  State,    —f         342 

But  not  to  warp  or  change  it.    We  are  his, 

To  serve  him  nobly  in  the  common  cause. 

True  to  the  death,  but  not  to  be  his  slaves.  STo  W 

Mark  now  the  difference,  ye  that  boast  your  love  \ 

Of  kings,  between  your  loyalty  and  ours.  ^ j 

We  love  the  man ;  the  paltry  pageani 

We  the  chief  patron  of  the  commonwealth ; 

You  the  regardless  author  of  its  woes : 

We,  for  the  sake  of  libe^rty,  a  king; 

You  chains  and  bondage,  for  a  tyrant's  sake. 

Our  love  is  principle,  and  has  its"  root  353 

In  reason,  is  judicious,  manly,'free; 

Yours,  a  blind  instinct,  crouches  to  the  rod. 

And  licks  the  foot  that  treads  it  in  the  dust. 

Were  kingship  as  true  treasure  as  it  seems, 

Sterling,  and  worthy  of  a  wise  man's  wish, 

I  would  not  be  a  king  to  be  beloved 

Causeless,  and  daub'd  with  undiscerning  praise, 

Where  love  is  mere  attachment  to  the  throne, 

]N^ot  to  the  man  who  fills  it  as  he  ought. 

AVhose  freedom  is  by  sufferance,  and  at  will 
Of  a  superior,  lie  is  never  free.  304 


260  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Who  lives,  and  is  not  weary  of  a  life 

Exposed  to  manacles,  deserves  them  well. 

The  State  that  strives  for  liberty,  though  foil'd, 

And  forced  to  abandon  what  she  bravely  sought, 

Deserves  at  least  applause  for  her  attempt. 

And  pity  for  her  loss.    But  that's  a  cause 

Not  often  unsuccessful :  power  usurp'd 

Is  weakness  when  opposed  ;  conscious  of  wrong, 

'Tis  pusillanimous  and  prone  to  flight. 

But  slaves  that  once  conceive  the  glowing  thought     374 

Of  freedom,  in  that  hope  itself  possess 

All  that  the  contest  calls  for;  spirit,  strength, 

The  scorn  of  danger,  and  united  hearts; 

Tlie  surest  presage  of  the  good  they  seek.* 

Tlien  shame  to  manhood,  and  opprobrious  more 
To  France  than  all  her  losses  and  defeats. 
Old  or  of  later  date,  by  sea  or  land. 
Her  liouse  of  bondage,  worse  than  that  of  old 
Which  God  avenged  on  Pharaoh — the  Bastile. 
Ye  horrid  towers,  the  abode  of  broken  hearts ; 
Ye  dungeons  and  ye  cages  of  despair,  385 

That  monarchs  have  supplied  from  age  to  age 
AVith  music  such  as  suits  their  sovereign  ears, 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  miserable  men! 
There's  not  an  English  lieart  that  would  not  leap 
To  hear  that  ye  were  fallen  at  las^ ;  to  know 
That  even  our  enemies,  so  oft  eniployVl 
In  forging  chains  for  us,  themselves  were  free. 
For  he  who  values  Liberty,  confines 
Ilis  zeal  for  her  predominance  within 
No  narrow  bounds;  her  cause  engages  him 
Wherever  pleaded.     'Tis  the  cause  of  man.  396 

There  dwell  the  most  forlorn  of  humankind. 
Immured  though  unaccused,  condemn'd  untried, 
Cruelly  spared,  and  hopeless  of  escape ! 
There,  like  tlie  visionary  emblem  seen 
By  him  of  Babylon,  life  stands  a  stump, 
And  filleted  about  with  hoops  of  brass. 
Still  lives,  though  all  its  pleasant  boughs  are  gone. 

1  The  author  hopes  that  he  shall  not  be  censured  for  unnecessarj  warmth 
upon  so  interesting  a  subject.  lie  is  aware  that  it  is  become  almost  fash- 
ionable to  stigmatize  such  sentiments  as  no  better  than  empty  declamation; 
but  it  is  an  ill  symptom,  and  peculiar  to  modern  times 


THE    TASK.  261 

To  count  the  hour-bell  and  expect  no  change ; 
And  ever,  as  tlie  sullen  sound  is  heard, 
Still  to  reflect,  that  though  a  joyless  note 
To  him  whose  moments  all  have  one  dull  pace, 
Ten  tliousand  rovers  in  the  world  at  large 
Account  it  music ;  that  it  summons  some 
To  theatre,  or  jocund  feast,  or  ball ; 
The  wearied  hireling  finds  it  a  release 
From  labor ;  and  the  lover,  who  has  chid 
Its  long  delay,  feels  every  welcome  stroke  413 

Upon  his  lieart-strings,  trembling  with  delight: 
To  fly  for  refuge  from  distracting  thought 
To  such  amusements  as  ingenious  woe 
Contrives,  hard-shifting,  and  without  her  tools; 
To  read  engraven  on  the  mouldy  walls. 
In  staggering  types,  his  predecessor's  tale, 
A  sad  memorial,  and  subjoin  his  own; 
To  turn  purveyor  to  an  overgorged 
And  bloated  spider,  till  the  pamperVl  pest 
Is  made  familiar,  watches  his  approach, 
Comes  at  his  call,  and  serves  him  for  a  friend ;  424 

To  wear  out  time  in  numbering  to  and  fro 
The  studs  that  thick  emboss  his  iron  door; 
Then  downward  and  then  upward,  then  aslant, 
And  then  alternate ;  with  a  sickly  hope. 
By  dint  of  change  to  give  his  tasteless  task 
Some  relish ;  till  the  sum,  exactly  found 
III  all  directions,  he  begins  again : 
Oh,  comfortless  ex:istencel  hemm'd  around 
"With  woes,  which  who  that  suflers  would  not  kneel 
And  beg  for  exile,  or  the  pangs  of  death  ? 
That  man  should  thus  encroach  on  fellow-man,  435 

Abridge  him  of  his  just  and  native  rights. 
Eradicate  him,  tear  him  from  his  hold 
Upon  the  endearments  of  domestic  life 
And  social,  nip  his  fruitfulness  and  use, 
And  doom  him  for  perhaps  a  heedless  word 
To  barrenness,  and  solitude,  and  tears. 
Moves  indignation,  makes  the  name  of  kini^ 
(Of  king  whom  such  prerogative  can  please) 
As  dreadful  as  the  Manichean  god, 
Adored  through  fear,  strong  only  to  destroy. 
'Tis  liberty  alone  that  gives  the  flower 


I 


262  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  fle^eting  life  its  lustre  and  perfume  ; 

And  we  are  weeds  without  it.     All  constraint. 

Except  what  wisdom  lays  on  evil  men, 

Is  evil ;  hurts  tlie  faculties,  impedes 

Their  progress  in  the  road  of  science ;  blinds 

The  eyesight  of  Discovery,  and  begets, 

In  those  that  suffer  it,  a  sordid  mind 

Bestial,  a  meagre  intellect,  unfit 

To  be  the  tenant  of  man's  noble  form. 

Tliee  therefore  still,  blameworthy  as  thou  art, 

Witli  all  thy  loss  of  empire,  and  tliough  squeezed 

By  public  exigence  till  annual  food 

Fails  for  the  craving  hunger  of  the  state — 

Thee  I  account  still  happy,  and  the  chief 

Among  tlie  nations,  seeing  thou  art  free! 

My  native  nook  of  earth!  Thy  clime  is  rude. 

Replete  with  vapors,  and  disposes  mucli 

All  hearts  to  sadness,  and  none  more  than  mine : 

Thine  unadulterate  manners  are  less  soft 

And  plausible  than  social  life  requires; 

And  thou  hast  need  of  discipline  and  art 

To  give  thee  wdiat  politer  France  receives 

From  Nature's  bounty — that  humane  address 

And  sweetness,  without  which  no  pleasure  is 

In  converse,  either  starved  by  cold  reserve. 

Or  flush'd  with  tierce  dispute,  a  senseless  brawl. 

Yet  being  free  I  love  thee :  for  the  sake 

Of  that  one  feature  can  be  well  content. 

Disgraced  as  thou  hast  been,  poor  as  thou^^art, 

To  sejsk  no  sublunary  rest  beside. 

]^ut,  once  enslaved,  farewell!  1  could  endure 

Chains  nowhere  patiently;  and  chains  at  home, 

AVhere  I  am  free  by  birthright,  not  at  all. 

Then  what  were  left  of  roughness  in  the  grain 

Of  British  natures,  wanting  its  excuse 

That  it  belongs  to  freemen,  would  disgust 

And  shock  me.     I  should  then,  with  double  pain. 

Feel  all  the  rigor  of  thy  fickle  clime ; 

And  if  I  must  bew^ail  tlie  blessing  lost. 

For  which  our  Hampdens  and  our  Sidneys  bled, 

I  would  at  least  bewail  it  under  skies 

Milder,  among  a  people  less  austere ; 

In  scenes  w^hich,  having  never  known  me  free. 


THE    TASK.  2G3 

Would  not  reproach  me  with  the  loss  I  felt. 

Do  I  forbode  impossible  events, 

And  tremble  at  vain  dreams?     Heaven  grant  I  may  ! 

But  tlie  age  of  virtuous  politics  is  past, 

And  Ave  are  deep  in  that  of  cold  pretence. 

Patriots  are  grown  too  shrewd  to  be  sincere. 

And  we  too  wise  to  trust  them.     He  tliat  takes 

Deep  in  his  soft  credulity  the  stamp 

Designed  by  loud  declaimers  on  the  part 

Of  liberty,  themselves  tlie  slaves  of  lust,  499 

Incurs  derision  for  his  easy  faitli 

And  lack  of  knowledge,  and  with  cause  enough : 

For  when  was  public  virtue  to  be  found 

Where  private  was  not?     Can  he  love  the  whole 

Who  loves  no  part? — he  be  a  nation's  friend 

Who  is,  in  truth,  the  friend  of  no  man  there  ? 

Can  he  be  strenuous  in  his  country's  cause 

Who  slights  the  charities,  for  whose  dear  sake 

That  country,  if  at  all,  must  be  beloved? 

'Tis  therefore  sober  and  good  men  are  sad  ♦ 

For  England's  glory,  seeing  it  wax  pale  510 

And  sickly,  while  her  champions  wear  their  hearts 
So  loose  to  private  duty,  that  no  brain, 
Healthful  and  undisturb'd  by  factious  fumes. 
Can  dream  them  trusty  to  the  general  weal. 
Such  were  not  they  of  old,  whose  temper'd  blades 
Dispersed  the  shackles  of  usurp'd  control. 
And  hew'd  them  link  from  link :  then  Albion's  sons 
Were  sons  indeed ;  they  felt  a  filial  heart 
Beat  high  witliin  them  at  a  mother's  wrongs ; 
And  shining  each  in  his  domestic  sphere, 
6hone  brighter  still,  once  call'd  to  public  view.  521 

'Tis  therefore  many,  whose  secjuester'd  lot 
Forbids  their  interference,  looking  on, 
Anticipate  perforce  some  dire  event ; 
And,  seeing  the  old  castle  of  the  State, 
That  promised  once  more  firmness,  so  assail'd 
That  all  its  tempest-beaten  turrets  shake, 
Stand  motionless  expectants  of  its  fall. 
All  has  its  date  below :  the  fatal  hour 
Was  register'd  in  heaven  ere  time  began. 
We  turn  to  dust,  and  all  our  mightiest  works 
Die  too :  the  deep  foundations  that  we  lay,  532 


I 


264  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Time  ploughs  them  up,  and  not  a  trace  remains. 

We  build  with  what  we  deem  eternal  rock : 

A  distant  age  asks  where  the  fabric  stood ; 

And  in  the  dust,  sifted  and  search'd  in  vain, 

The  undiscoverable  secret  sleeps. 
But  there  is  yet  a  liberty,  unsung 

By  poets,  and  by  senators  unpraised, 

AYhich  monarchs  cannot  grant,  nor  all  the  powers 

Of  earth  and  hell  confederate  take  away : 

A  liberty,  which  persecution,  fraud,  542 

Oppression,  prisons,  have  no  power  to  bind ; 

AVhich  whoso  tastes  can  be  enslaved  no  more. 

'Tis  liberty  of  heart,  derived  from  Heaven, 

Bought  with  His  blood  who  gave  it  to  mankind, 

And  seal'd  with  the  same  token.     It  is  held 

By  charter,  and  that  charter  sanction'd  sure 

By  the  unimpeachable  and  awful  oath 
'  And  promise  of  a  God.     His  other  gifts 

All  bear  the  royal  stamp  that  speaks  them  his, 
.  And  are  august ;  but  this  transcends  them  all. 

His  other  works,  this  visible  display  553 

Of  all-creating  energy  and  might, 

Are  grand,  no  doubt,  and  worthy  of  the  Word 

That,  finding  an  interminable  space 

Unoccupied,  has  fiU'd  the  void  so  Avell, 

And  made  so  sparkling  what  was  dark  before. 

But  these  are  not  his  glory.     Man,  'tis  true, 

Smit  with  the  beauty  of  so  fair  a  scene. 

Might  well  suppose  the  Artificer  divine 

Meant  it  eternal,  had  he  not  himself 

Pronounced  it  transient,  glorious  as  it  is, 

And,  still  designing  a  more  glorious  far,  164 

Doom'd  it  as  insufficient  for  his  praise. 

These  therefore  are  occasional,  and  pass ; 

Form'd  for  the  confutation  of  the  fool, 

Whose  lying  heart  disputes  against  a  God ; 

That  office  served,  they  must  be  swept  away. 

Not  so  the  labors  of  his  love :  they  shine 

In  other  heavens  than  these  that  we  behold, 

And  fade  not.     There  is  Paradise  that  fears 

No  forfeiture,  and  of  its  fruits  he  sends 

Large  prelibation  oft  to  saints  below. 

Of  these  the  first  in  order,  and  the  pledge  575 


THE   TASK.  265 

And  confident  assurance  of  the  rest, 
Is  Liberty :  a  flight  into  his  arms, 
Ere  yet  mortality's  fine  tlireads  give  way, 
A  clear  escape  from  tyrannizing  lust. 
And  full  immunity  from  penal  woe. 

Chains  are  the  portion  of  revolted  man. 
Stripes  and  a  dungeon ;  and  liis  body  serves 
The  triple  purpose.     In  that  sickly,  foul. 
Opprobrious  residence,  he  finds  them  all. 
Propense  his  heart  to  idols,  he  is  held  585 

In  silly  dotage  on  created  things. 
Careless  of  their  Creator.     And  that  low 
And  sordid  gravitation  of  his  powers 
To  a  vile  clod  so  draws  him,  with  such  force 
Resistless,  from  the  centre  he  should  seek. 
That  he  at  last  forgets  it.     All  his  hopes 
Tend  downward  ;  his  ambition  is  to  sink. 
To  reach  a  depth  profounder  still,  and  still 
Profounder,  in  the  fathomless  abyss 
Of  folly,  plunging  in  pursuit  of  death. 
But,  ere  he  gain  the  comfortless  repose  596 

He  seeks,  and  acquiescence  of  his  soul. 
In  heaven-renouncing  exile,  he  endures — 
What  does  he  not,  from  lusts  opposed  in  vain. 
And  self-reproaching  conscience  ?     He  foresees 
The  fatal  issue  to  his  health,  fame,  peace, 
Fortune,  and  dignity ;  the  loss  of  all 
That  can  ennoble  man,  and  make  frail  life, 
Short  as  it  is,  supportable.     Still  w^orse, 
Far  worse  than  all  the  i)lagues  with  which  his  sins 
Infect  his  happiest  moments,  he  forebodes 
Ages  of  hopeless  misery ;  future  death,  607 

And  death  still  future :  not  a  hasty  stroke. 
Like  that  which  sends  him  to  the  dusty  grave ; 
But  unrepealable  enduring  death. 
Scripture  is  still  a  trumpet  to  his  fears : 
"What  none  can  prove  a  forgery,  may  be  true ; 
What  none  but  bad  men  wish  exploded,  must. 
That  scruple  checks  him.     Riot  is  not  loud 
Kor  drunk  enough,  to  drown  it.     In  the  midst 
Of  laughter  his  compunctions  are  sincere ; 
And  he  abhors  the  jest  by  which  he  shines. 
Remorse  begets  reform.     Ilis  master-lust  618 

23 


266  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Falls  first  before  liis  resolute  rebuke, 
And  seems  dethroned  and  vanquished.     Peace  ensues, 
But  spurious  and  short-lived ;  the  puny  child 
Of  self-congratulating  Pride,  begot 
On  fancied  Innocence.     Again  he  falls. 
And  fights  again ;  but  finds  his  best  essay 
A  presage  ominous,  portending  still 
Its  own  dishonor  by  a  worse  relapse. 
Till  Nature,  unavailing  Nature,  foil'd 
So  oft,  and  wearied  in  the  vain  attempt,  62^ 

Scoffs  at  her  own  performance.     Reason  now 
Takes  part  with  Appetite,  and  pleads  the  cause 
Perversely,  which  of  late  she  so  condemned ; 
"With  shallow  shifts  and  old  devices,  worn 
And  tatter'd  in  the  service  of  debauch, 
Covering  his  shame  from  his  offended  sight. 
*'  Hath  God  indeed  given  appetites  to  man. 
And  stored  the  earth  so  plenteously  with  means 
To  gratify  the  hunger  of  his  wish ; 
And  doth  he  reprobate,  and  will  he  damn 
The  use  of  his  own  bounty?  making  first  C39 

So  frail  a  kind,  and  then  enacting  laws 
So  strict,  that  less  than  perfect  must  despair? 
Falsehood!  which  whoso  but  suspects  of  truth 
Dishonors  God,  and  makes  a  slave  of  man. 
Do  they  themselves,  who  undertake  for  Lire 
The  teacher's  office,  and  dispense  at  large 
Their  weekly  dole  of  edifying  strains. 
Attend  to  their  own  music?  have  they  faith 
In  what,  with  such  solemnity  of  tone 
And  gesture,  they  propound  to  our  belief? 
Nay — conduct  hath  the  loudest  tongue.     The  voice  G50 
Is  but  an  instrument,  on  which  the  priest 
May  play  what  tune  he  pleases.     In  the  deed, 
The  unequivocal,  authentic  deed, 
"VVe  find  sound  argument,  we  read  the  heart." 
Such  reasonings  (if  that  name  must  needs  belong 
To  excuses  in  which  Reason  has  no  part) 
Serve  to  compose  a  spirit  well  inclined 
To  live  on  terms  of  amity  with  Vice,  i 

And  sin  without  disturbance.     Often  urged  f 

(As  often  as  libidinous  discourse  ■ 

Exhausted,  he  resorts  to  solemn  themes  GGl 


I 


THE    TASK.  2G7 

Of  theological  and  grave  import), 

They  gain  at  last  his  unreserved  assent ; 

Till,  harden'd  his  heart's  temper  in  the  forge 

Of  lust,  and  on  the  anvil  of  despair, 

He  slights  the  strokes  of  conscience.    Nothing  moves, 

Or  nothing  much,  his  constancy  in  ill ; 

Yain  tampering  has  but  foster'd  his  disease ; 

'Tis  desperate,  and  he  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death. 

Haste  now,  philosopher,  and  set  him  free ! 

Charm  the  deaf  serpent  wisely !    Make  him  hear        671 

Of  rectitude  and  fitness,  moral  tyutli 

How  lovely,  and  the  moral  sense  how  sure, 

Consulted  and  obey'd,  to  guide  his  steps 

Directly,  to  the  riiisx  and  oxly  faik. 

Spare  not  in  such  a  cause.    Spend  all  the  powers 

Of  rant  and  rhapsody  in  Virtue's  praise :        « 

Be  most  sublimely  good,  verbosely  grand. 

And  with  poetic  trappings  grace  thy  prose, 

Till  it  outmantle  all  the  pride  of  verse. — 

Ah,  tinkling  cymbal  and  high-sounding  brass, 

Smitten  in  vain !  such  music  cannot  charm  682 

The  eclipse  that  intercepts  truth's  heavenly  beam, 

And  chills  and  darkens  a  wide  wandering  soul. 

The  STILL  SMALL  VOICE  is  waiited.    He  must  speak^ 

Whose  word  leaps  forth  at  once  to  its  effect ; 

Who  calls  for  things  that  are  not,  and  they  come. 

Grace  makes  the  slave  a  freeman.    'Tis  a  changa 
That  turns  to  ridicule  the  turgid  speech 
And  stately  tone  of  moralists,  who  boast, 
As  if,  like  him  of  fabulous  renown. 
They  had  indeed  ability  to  smooth 
The  shag  of  savage  nature,  and  were  each  693 

An  Orpheus,  and  omnipotent  in  song, 
But  transformation  of  apostate  man 
From  fool  to  wise,  from  earthly  to  divine, 
Is  work  for  Him  that  made  him.    He  alone, 
And  He  by  means  in  philosophic  eyes 
Trivial  and  worthy  of  disdain,  achieves 
The  wondci" ;  humanizing  what  is  brute 
In  the  lost  kind ;  extracting  from  the  lips 
Of  asps  their  venom,  overpowering  strength 
By  weakness,  and  hostility  by  love. 
Patriots  have  toil'd,  and  in  their  country's  cause        704 


268  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Bled  nobly ;  and  tlieir  deeds,  as  they  deserve, 

Receive  proud  recompense.     We  give  in  charge 

Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.     The  historic  Muse, 

Proud  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down 

To  latest  times ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn. 

Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-during  brass 

To  guard  them,  and  to  immortalize  her  trust. 

But  fairer  wreaths  are  due,  though  never  paid, 

To  those  who,  posted  at  the  shrine  of  Truth, 

Have  fallen  in  her  defence.     A  patriot's  blood, 

Well  spent  in  such  a  strife,  may  earn  indeed. 

And  for  a  time  insure,  to  his  loved  land. 

The  sweets  of  liberty  and  equal  laws ; 

But  martyrs  struggle  for  a  brighter  prize. 

And  win  it  with  more  pain.     Their  blood  is  shed 

In  confirmation  of  the  noblest  claim — 

Our  claim  to  feed  upon  immortal  truth. 

To  walk  with  God,  to  be  divinely  free. 

To  soar,  and  to  anticipate  the  skies. 

Yet  few  remember  them.     They  lived  unknown 

Till  Persecution  dragg'd  them  into  fame, 

And  chased  them  up  to  heaven.     Their  ashes  flew 

— No  marble  tells  us  whither.     With  their  names 

!N^o  bard  embalms  and  sanctifies  his  song ; 

And  History,  so  warm  on  meaner  themes, 

Is  cold  on  this.     She  execrates  indeed 

The  tyranny  that  doom'd  them  to  the  fire. 

But  gives  the  glorious  sufferers  little  praise.^ 

He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.     There's  not  a  chain 
That  hellish  foes,  confederate  for  his  harm, 
Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  off 
With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  his  green  withes. 
He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  Nature,  and  though  poor  perhaps,  compared 
With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  oAvn. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his. 
And  thq  resplendent  rivers :  his  to  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel. 
But  who,  with  fihal  confidence  inspired. 
Can  lift  to  heaven  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 

1  See  Hume. 


THE    TASK.  269 

And  smiling  say — ^'My  F<atlier  made  them  all'' 

Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  right, 

And  by  an  emphasis  of  interest  his, 

"Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy, 

AVliose  heart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted  mind 

AVith  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love 

That  plann'd,  and  built,  and  still  upholds,  a  world 

So  clothed  Avith  beauty,  for  rebellious  man  ? 

Yes — ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap 

The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good  756 

In  senseless  riot ;  but  ye  will  not  find 

In  feast,  or  in  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance, 

A  liberty  like  his,  who,  unimpeach'd 

Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  w^-ong. 

Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work, 

And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 

He  is  indeed  a  freeman:  free  by  birth' 

Of  no  mean  city ;  planned  or  e'er  the  hills 

"Were  built,  the  fountains  open'd^  or  the  sea 

With  all  his  roaring  multitude  of  wayps. 

His  freedom  is  the  same  in  every  state ;  76T 

And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life, 

So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  every  day 

Brings  its  ow^n  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less : 

For  he  has  wings,  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 

Nor  penury,  can  cripple  or  confine. 

No  nook  so  narrow  but  ho  spreads  them  there 

With  ease,  and  is  at  large.    The  oppressor  holds 

His  body  bound,  but  knows  not  what  a  range 

His  spirit  takes,  unconscious  of  a  chain ; 

And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt. 

Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells.  778 

Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  if  thou  wouldst  taste 
His  works.    Admitted  once  to  his  embrace. 
Thou  shalt  perceive  that  thou  wast  blind  before : 
Thine  eye  shall  be  instructed ;  and  thine  heart, 
Made  pure,  shall  relish,  with  divine  delight 
Till  then  unfelt,  what  liands  divine  have  w^rought. 
Brutes  graze  the  mountain-top,  with  faces  prone 
And  eyes  intent  upon  the  scanty  herb 
It  yields  them ;  or,  recumbent  on  its  brow, 
Euminate  heedless  of  the  scene  outspread 
Beneath,  beyond,  and  stretching  far  away 


270  cowper's  poetical  works. 

From  inland  regions  to  the  distant  main. 

Man  views  it,  and  admires,  but  rests  content 

With  wliat  he  views.     The  landscape  has  his  praise, 

But  not  its  Author.     Unconcern'd  who  form'd 

The  Paradise  he  sees,  he  finds  it  such. 

And  such  well  pleased  to  find  it,  asks  no  more. 

Not  so  the  mind  that  has  been  touch'd  from  heaven. 

And  in  the  school  of  sacred  wisdom  taught 

To  read  His  wonders,  in  whose  thought  the  World, 

Fair  as  it  is,  existed  ere  it  was.  799 

Nor  for  its  own  sake  merely,  but  for  His 

Much  more  who  fashioned  it,  he  gives  it  praise ; 

Praise  that,  from  earth  resulting,  as  it  ought. 

To  earth's  acknowledged  Sovereign,  finds  at  once 

Its  only  just  proprietor  in  Him. 

The  soul  that  sees  him,  or  receives  sublimed 

New  faculties,  or  learns  at  least  to  employ 

More  worthily  the  powers  he  own'd  before, 

Discerns  in  all  things  what,  with  stupid  gaze 

Of  ignorance,  till  then  she  overlook'd, 

A  ray  of  heavenly  light,  gilding  all  forms  810 

Terrestrial,  in  the  vast  and  the  minute ; 

The  unambiguous  footsteps  of  the  God 

"Who  gives  its  lustre  to  an  insect's  wing. 

And  wheels  his  throne  upon  the  rolling  worlds. 

Much  conversant  with  heaven,  she  often  holds 

With  those  fair  ministers  of  light  to  man, 

That  fill  the  skies  nightly  with  silent  pomp, 

Sweet  conference :  inquires  what  strains  were  they 

AVith  which  heaven  rang,  when  every  star,  in  haste 

To  gratnlate  the  new-created  earth,* 

Sent  forth  a  voice,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  821 

Shouted  for  joy. — '^Tell  me,,  ye  shining  hosts 

That  navigate  a  sea  that  knows  no  storms. 

Beneath  a  vault  unsullied  with  a  cloud. 

If  from  your  elevation,  whence  ye  view 

Distinctly  scenes  invisible  to  man. 

And  systems,  of  whose  birth  no  tidings  yet 

Have  reach'd  this  nether  world,  ye  spy  a  race 

Favor'd  as  ours,  transgressors  from  the  womb, 

And  hasting  to  a  grave,  yet  doom'd  to  rise. 

And  to  possess  a  brighter  heaven  than  yours  ? 

As  one  who,  long  detain'd  on  foreign  shores,  832 


THE    TASK.  271 

Pants  to  return,  and  when  he  sees  afar 

His  country's  weather-bleach'd  and  battered  rocks. 

From  the  green  wave  emerging,  darts  "an  eye 

Eadiant  with  joy  towards  the  happy  land; 

So  I  with  animated  hopes  behold. 

And  many  an  aching  wish,  your  beamy  fires, 

That  show  hke  beacons  in  the  blue  abyss, 

Ordain'd  to  guide  the  embodied  spirit  home 

From  toilsome  life  to  never-ending  rest. 

Love  kindles  as  I  gaze.     I  feel  desires  842 

That  give  assurance  of  their  own  success. 

And  that,  infused  from  heaven,  must  thither  tend." 

So  reads  he  nature  whom  the  lamp  of  truth 
Illuminates.     Thy  lamp,  mysterious  Word ! 
Which  whoso  sees  no  longer  wanders  lost. 
With  intellects  bemazed  in  endless'doubt. 
But  runs  the  road  of  wisdom.     Thou  hast  built. 
With  means  that  were  not  till  by  thee  employ'd, 
Worlds  that  had  never  been  hadst  thou  in  strength 
Been  less,  or  less  benevolent  than  strong. 
They  are  thy  witnesses,  who  speak  thy  power  853 

And  goodness  infinite,  but  speak  in  ears 
That  hear  not,  or  receive  not  their  report. 
In  vain  thy  creatures  testify  of  thee. 
Till  thou  proclaim  thyself.     Theirs  is  indeed 
A  teaching  voice ;  but  'tis  the  praise  of  thine 
That  whom  it  teaches  it  makes  prompt  to  learn 
And  with  the  boon  gives  talents  for  its  use. 
Till  Thou  art  heard,  imaginations  vain 
Possess  the  heart ;  and  fables  false  as  hell, 
Yet  deem'd  oracular,  lure  down  to  death 
The  uninform'd  and  heedless  souls  of  men.  864 

We  give  to  Chance,  blind  Chance,  ourselves  as  blind, 
The  glory  of  thy  work ;  which  yet  appears 
Perfect  and  unimpeachable  of  blame. 
Challenging  human  scrutiny,  and  proved 
Then  skilful  most  when  most  severely  judged. 
But  Chance  is  not ;  or  is  not  where  thou  reign'st : 
Thy  providence  forbids  that  fickle  power 
(If  power  she  be  that  works  but  to  confound) 
To  mix  her  wild  vagaries  with  thy  laws. 
Yet  thus  we  dote,  refusing  while  we  can 
Instruction,  and  inventing  to  ourselves  875 


2V2  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Gods  such  as  guilt  makes  welcome;  gods  that  sleep, 

Or  disregard  our  follies,  or  that  sit 

Amused  spectators  of  this  bustling  stage. 

Thee  we  reject,  unable  to  abide 

Thy  purity,  till  pure  as  thou  art  pure ; 

Made  such  by  Thee,  we  love  thee  for  that  cause, 

For  Avliich  we  shunn'd  and  hated  thee  before. 

Then  we  are  free :  then  liberty,  like  day. 

Breaks  on  the  soul,  and,  by  a  flash  from  heaven, 

Fires  all  the  faculties  with  glorious  joy.  885 

A  voice  is  heard  that  mortal  ears  hear  not 

Till  thou  hast  touch'd  them ;  'tis  the  voice  of  song, 

A  loud  Hosanna  sent  from  all  thy  works ; 

Which  he  that  hears  it  with  a  shout  repeats. 

And  adds  his  rapture  to  the  general  praise. 

In  that  blest  moment,  Nature,  throwing  wide 

Her  veil  opake,  discloses  with  a  smile     .  r 

The  Author  of  her  beauties,  who,  retired  > 

Behind  his  own  creation,  works  unseen 

By  the  impure,  and  hears  his  power  denied. 

Thou  art  the  source  and  centre  of  all  minds,  896 

Their  only  point  of  rest,  eternal  Word! 

From  tliee  departing,  they  are  lost,  and  rove 

At  random,  without  honor,  hope,  or  peace; 

From  thee  is  all  that  soothes  the  life  of  man, 

His  high  endeavor,  and  his  glad  success. 

His  strength  to  suffer,  and  his  will  to  serve. 

But  0  thou  bounteous  Giver  of  all  good. 

Thou  art  of  all"  thy  gifts  thyself  the  crown ! 

Give  what  thou  canst,  without  thee  we  are  poor ; 

And  with  thee  rich,  take  what  thou  wilt  away. 


BOOK  YI -THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON. 


THE  AEGUMENT. 

3ells  at  a  distance,  1— Their  effect,  6— A  fine  noon  in  winter,  57— A  sheltei-ed  walk, 
72— Meditation  better  than  books,  84 — Our  familiarity  with  the  course  of  nature 
makes  it  appear  less  wonderful  than  it  is,  118— The  transformation  that  spring 
effects  in  a  shrubbery  described,  140— A  mistake  concerning  the  course  of  nature 
corrected,  198— God  maintains  it  by  an  xini-emitted  act,  221— The  amusements 
fashionable  at  this  hour  of  the  day  reproved,  2G2— Animals  happy,  a  delightful 
sight,  32l4-Origin  of  cruelty  to  animals,! 34^That  it  is  a  great  crime,  proved 
from  Scnprturt?r459 — That  proof  illustrated  by  a  tale,  483— A  line  drawn  between 
the  lawful  and  unlawful  destruction  of  them,  560— Their  good  and  useful  proper- 
ties insisted  on,  COl— Apology  for  the  encomiums  bestowed  by  the  author  on  ani- 
mals, G21— Instances  of  man's  extravagant  praise  of  man,  632— The  groans  of  tlio 
creation  shall  have  an  end,  729— A  view  taken  of  the  restoration  of  all  things,  /47 
—An  invocation  and  an  invitation  of  Him  who  shall  bring  it  to  pass,  818 — The  le- 
tired  man  vindicated  from  the  charge  of  uselessness,  906— Conclusion,  995. 

There  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds ; 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitch'd  the  ear  is  pleased 
With  melting  airs  or  martial,  brisk  or  grave. 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hear 
Is  touch'd  within  us,  and  the  heart  replies.  ,' 
How  soft  the  music  of  those  village  bells,'" " 
FaHing  at  intervals  upon  the  ear  7 

In  cadence  sweet,  now  dying  all  away, 
IsTow  pealing  loud  again,  and  louder  still, 
Clear  and  sonorous,  as  the  gale  comes  on ! 
"With  easy  force  it  opens  all  the  cells 
^Vliere  Memory  slept.     Wherever  I  have  heard 
A  kindred  melody,  the  scene  recurs, 
And  with  it  all  its  pleasures  and  its  pains. 
Such  comprehensive  views  the  spirit  takes, 
That  in  a  few  short  moments  I  retrace 
(As  in  a  map  the  voyager  his  course) 
The  windings  of  my  way  through  many  years.  18 


2*74  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Short  as  in  retrospect  the  journey  seems, 
It  seem'd  not  always  short ;  the  rugged  path, 
And  prospect  oft  so  dreary  and  forlorn. 
Moved  many  a  sigh  at  its  disheartening  length. 
Yet  feeling  present  evils,  while  the  past 
Taintly  impress  the  mind,  or  not  at  all. 
How  readily  we  wish  time  spent  revoked, 
That  we  might  try  the  ground  again,  where  once 
(Through  inexperience,  as  we  now  perceive) 
"VVe  miss'd  that  happiness  we  might  have  found!  28 

Some  friend  is  gone,  perhaps  his  son's  best  friend, 
A  father,  whose  authority,  in  show 
When  most  severe,  and  mustering  all  its  force, 
Was  but  the  graver  countenance  of  love ; 
AVhose  favor,  like  the  clouds  of  spring,  might  lower, 
And  utter  now  and  then  an  awful  voice. 
But  had  a  blessing  in  its  darkest  frown. 
Threatening  at  once  and  nourishing  the  plant. 
,  /  jWe  loved,  but  not  enough,  the  gentle  hand 
jThat  rear'd  us.     At  a  thoughtless  age,  allured 
By  every  gilded  folly,  we  renounced  89 

His  sheltering  side,  and  wilfully  forewent 
That  converse  which  we  now  in  vain  regret. 
How  gladly  would  the  man  recall  to  life 
The  boy's  neglected  sire !  a  mother  too, 
That  softer  friend,  perhaps  more  gladly  still, 
Might  he  demand  them  at  the  gates  of  death. 
Sorrow  has,  since  they  went,  subdued  and  tamed 
The  playful  humor ;  he  could  now  endurQ 
(Himself  grown  sober  in  the  vale  of  tears), 
And  feel  a  parent's  presence  no  restraint. 
But  not  to  understand  a  treasure's  wortli,  50 

Till  time  has  stolen  away  the  slighted  good, 
Is  cause  of  half  the  poverty  we  feel. 
And  makesjhe  World  the  wilderness  iLJg. 
The  few  that  pray  at  all  pray  oft  amiss. 
And,  seeking  grace  to  improve  the  prize  they  hold. 
Would  urge  a  wiser  suit  than  asking  more.  / 

The  night  was  winter  in  his  roughest  mood ; 
The  morning  sharp  and  clear.     But  now  at  noon 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills, 
And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern  blast. 
The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage,  01 


THE    TASK.  21 5 

And  has  the  warmth  of  May.     Tlie  vault  is  blue  . 
AVithout  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 
The  dazzling  splendor  of  the  scene  below. 
Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale; 
And  through  the  trees  I  view  the  embattled  tower 
Whence  all  the  music.     I  again  perceive 
The  soothing  influence  of  the  Avafted  strains, 
And  settle  in  soft  musings  as  I  tread 
The  walk,  still  verdant,  under  oaks  and  elms, 
Whose  outspread  branches  overarch  tlie  gladej  71 

Tlie  roof,  though  fnovable  through  all  its  leiigtn, 
As  the  wind  sways  it,  has  yet  well  sufficed, 
And,  intercepting  in  their  silent  fall 
The  frequent  flakes,  has  kept  a  patli  for  me. 
!N"o  noise  is  here,  or  none  that  hinders  thought. 
The  redbreast  Avarbles  still,  but  is  content 
With  slender  notes,  and  more  than  lialf  suppressed ; 
Pleased  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
I  From  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he'  shakes 
From  many  a  twig  the  p(^ndent  drops  of  ice 
That  tinkle  in  the  wither'd  leaves  below.  82 

''~~  Stillness,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft. 
Charms  more  than  silenjie,./  Meditation  here 
May  think  down  hours  to  moments.     Here  the  heart 

•  ^  May  give  a  useful  lesson  to  the  head. 

And  Learning  wiser  grow  without  his  books. 

Knowledge  and  Wisflom,  f\\r  fr^^^^  l^^ing  on^, 

Have  ofttimcs  no_conn action.  / Knowledge  dwells 

In  heads  replete  Avith  thoughts  of  other  men; 

Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own.j  v^-a^^*"^ 

Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass,  "^^       *> 

The  mere  materials  with  which  Wisdom  builds. 

Till  smooth'd  and  squared,  and  fitted  to  its  place, 

Does  but  encumber  whom  it  seems  to  enrich. 

(Knowledge  is  proud  that  he  has  learned  so  much ; 
Wisdom  is  humble  that  he  knows  no  more.  | 
Books  are  not  seldom  talismans  and  spells, 
By  which  the  magic  art  of  shrewder  wits 
Holds  an  untliinking  multitude  enthrall'd. 
Some  to  the  fascination  of  a  name 
Surrender  judgment,  hoodwink'd.     Some  the  style 
Infatuates,  and  through  labyrinths  and  wilds 
Of  error  leads  thern,  by  a  tune  entranced.       -  104 


27C 


COWFER  S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"Willie  slotli  seduces  more,  too  weak  to  bear 

Tiie  insupportable  fatigue  of  thought, 

And  swallowing,  therefore,  without  pause  or  choice, 

The  total  grist  unsifted,  husks  and  all. 

But  trees,  and  rivulets  whose  rapid  course 

Defies  the  check  of  winter,  haunts  of  deer, 

And  sheep-walks,  populous  with  bleating  lambs, 

And  lanes,  in  which  the  primrose  ere  her  time 

Peeps  through  the  moss  tliat  clothes  the  hawthorn  root, 

Deceive  no  student.     Wisdom  there,  and  Truth,         114 

Not  shy,  as  in  the  world,  and  to  be  won 

By  slow  solicitation,  seize  at  once 

The  roving  thought,  and  fix  it  on  themselves.  [    / 

What  prodigies  can  power  divine  perforrfl[     .y 
More  grand  tlian  it  produces  year  by  year, 
And  all  in  sight  of  inattentive  man  ? 
Familiar  with  the  effect,  we  slight  the  cause, 
And,  in  the  constancy  of  Nature's  course, 
Tlie  regular  return  of  genial  months, 
And  renovation  of  a  faded  world, 

See  naught  to  wonder  at.    Should  God  again,  125 

As  once  in  Gibeon,  interrupt  the  race 
Of  the  undeviating  and  punctual  sun, 
How  would  the  world  admire !  but  speaks  it  less 
An  agency  divine,  to  make  him  know 
His  moment  when  to  sink  and  when  to  rise, 
Age  after  age,  than  to  arrest  his  course  ? 
All  we  behold  is  miracle ;  but  seen 
So  duly,  all  is  miracle  in  vain. 
/^Where  now  the  vital  energy  that  moved, 
While  summer  was,  the  pure  and  subtle  lymph 
Through  the  imperceptible  meandering  veins  136 

Of  leaf  and  flower  ?    It  sleeps ;  and  the  icy  touch 
Of  unprolific  winter  has  impressed 
A  cold  stagnation  on  the  intestine  tide^ J 
]^ut  let  the  months  go  round,  a  few  short  months. 
And  all  shall  be  restored.    These  naked  shoots, 
Barren  as  lances,  among  which  the  wind 
Makes  wintry  music,  sighing  as  it  goes, 
Shall  put  their  graceful  foliage  on  again. 
And  more  aspiring,  and  with  ampler  spread, 
Shall  boast  new  charms,  and  more  than  they  have  lost. 
Then  each,  in  its  peculiar  honors  clad, 


THE    TASK. 


277 


Shall  publish,  even  to  the  distant  eye, 
Its  family  and  tribe.    Laburnum,  rich 
In  streaming  gold ;  syringa,  ivory  pure  ; 
The  scented  and  the  scentless  rose;  this  red, 
And  of  an  humbler  growth,  the  other^  tall, 
And  tin-owing  up  into  the  darkest  gloom 
Of  neighboring  cypress,  or  more  sable  yew. 
Her  silver  globes,  light  as  the  foamy  surf 
That  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken  wave ; 
The  lilac,  various  in  array,  now  white,  157 

Now  sanguine,  and  her  beauteous  head  now  set 
With  purple  spikes  pyramidal,  as  if 
Studious  of  ornament,  yet  unresolved 
"VYhicli  hue  she  most  approved,  she  chose  them  all ; 
Copious  of  flowers  the  w^oodbine,  pale  and  wan, 
But  well  compensating  her  sickly  looks 
"With  never-cloying  odors,  early  and  late ; 
Hypericum  all  bloom,  so  thick  a  swarm 
Of  flowers,  like  flies  clothing  her  slender  rods, 
That  scarce  a  leaf  appears ;  mezerion  too, 
Tliough  leafless,  well  attired,  and' thick  beset  168 

"With  blushing  wreaths,  investing  every  spray ; 
Althsea  with  the  purple  eye ;  the  broom. 
Yellow  and  bright,  as  bullion  unalloyVl, 
Her  blossoms ;  and  luxuriant  above  all 
The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets, 
The  deep  dark  green  of  whose- unvarnish'd  leaf 
Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more 
The  bright  profusion  of  her  scattered  stars. — 
These  have  been,  and  these  shall  be  in  their  day; 
And  all  this  uniform  uncolor'd  scene 
Shall  be  dismantled  of  its  fleecy  load,  179 

And  flush  into  variety  again. 
From  dearth  to  plenty,  and  from  death  to  life. 
Is  Nature's  progress,  when  she  lectures  man 
In  heavenly  truth ;  evincing,  as  she  makes 
The  grand  transition,  that  there  lives  and  works 
A  soul  in  all  things,  and  that  soul  is  God. 
The  beauties  of  the  wilderness  are  his, 
That  make  so  gay  the  solitary  place, 
Where  no  eye  sees  them.    And  tlie  iairer  forms, 
That  cultivation  glories  in,  are  his. 
i  The  guelder-rose. 
24 


278  cowper's  poetical  works. 

He  sets  the  bright  procession  on  its  way, 

And  marshals  all  the  order  of  the  year; 

He  marks  the  bounds  which  Winter  may  not  pass, 

And  blunts  his  pointed  fury ;  in  its  case, 

Russet  and  rude,  folds  up  the  tender  germ, 

Uninjured,  with  inimitable  art; 

And,  ere  one  flowery  season  fades  and  dies,  / 

Designs  the  blooming  wonders  of  the  next^ 
;       Some  say  that  in  the  origin  of  things, 
I    When  all  creation  started  into  birth,  199 

I    The  infant  elements  received  a  law, 
f    From  which  they  swerve  not  since.  That  under  force 

Of  that  controlling  ordinance  they  move, 
:     And  need  not  His  immediate  hand,  who  first 
J     Prescribed  their  course,  to  regulate  it  now. 
y    Thus  dream  they,  and  contrive  to  save  a  God 

The  encumbrance  of  his  own  concerns,  and  spare 

The  great  Artificer  of  all  that  moves 

Tlie  stress  of  a  continual  act,  the  pain 

Of  unremitted  vigilance  and  care, 

x\s  too  laborious  and  severe  a  task.  210 

So  man,  the  moth,  is  not  afraid,  it  seems. 

To  span  Omnipotence,  and  measure  might. 

That  knows  no  measure,  by  the  scanty  'rule 

And  standard  of  his  own,  that  is  to-day, 

And  is  not  ere  to-morrow's  sun  go  down. 

But  how  should  matter  occupy  a  charge. 

Dull  as  it  is,  and  satisfy  a  law 

So  vast  in  its  demands,  unless  impell'd 

To  ceaseless  service  by  a  ceaseless  force. 

And  under  pressure  of  some  conscious  cause?  \      ' 

The  Lord  of  all,  himself  tlirough  all  ditfuse^f^'  221 

Sustains,  and  is  the  life  of  all  that  lives.  /  ' 

//Nature  is  but  a  name  for  an  eflfect. 
Whose  cause  is  God.|  He  feeds  the  secret  fire 
By  which  the  mighty  process  is  maintairtVl, 
Who  sleeps  not,  is  not  weary ;  in  whose  sight 
Slow  circling  ages  are  as  transient  days;-     ^ 
Whose  work  is  without  labor;  Whose  designs 
Ko  flaw  deforms,  no  difficulty  thwarts ; 
And  whose  beneficence  no  charge  exhausts. 
Him  blind  antiquity  profaned,  not  served. 
With  self-taught  rites,  and  under  various  names,         232 


THE    TASK.  279 

Female  and  male,  Pomona,  Pales,  Pan, 

And  Flora,  and  Yertumnus ;  peopling  earth 

AVith  tutelary  goddesses  and  gods, 

That  were  not ;  and  commending  as  they  would 

To  each  some  province,  garden,  field,  or  grove. 

But  all  are  under  One.    One  Spirit — Ilis 

Who  wore  the  platted  thorns  with  bleeding  brows, 

Kules  universal  nature.    Not  a  flower 

But  shows  some  touch,  in  freckle,  streak,  or  stain. 

Of  his  unrivall'd  pencil.    He  inspires  242 

Their  balmy  odors,  and  imparts  their  hues, 

And  bathes  their  eyes  with  nectar,  and  includes, 

In  grains  as  countless  as  the  seaside  sands. 

The  forms  with  which  he  sprinkles  all  the  earth. 

Happy  who  walks  with  him !  whom  what  he  finds 

Of  flavor  or  of  scent  in  fruit  or  flower, 

Or  what  he  views  of  beautiful  or  grand 

In  nature,  from  the  broad  majestic  oak    '"         • 

To  the  green  blade  that  twinkles  in  the  sun. 

Prompts  with  remembrance  of  a  present  God ! 

His  presence,  who  made  all  so  fiiir,  perceived,  253 

Makes  all  still  fairer.     As  witii  him  no  scene 

Is  dreary,  so  with  him  all  seasons  please. 

Though  winter  had  been  none,  had  man  been  true, 

And  earth  be  punish'd  for  its  tenant's  sake, 

Yet  not  in  vengeance;  as  this  smiling  sky, 

So  soon  succeeding  such  an  angry  night. 

And  these  dissolving  snows,  and  this  clear  stream 

Kecovering  fast  its  liquid  music,  praye._/ 

Who,  then,  that  has  a  mind  well  strung  and  tuned 
To  contemplation,  and  within  his  reach 
A  scene  so  friendly  to  his  favorite-task^  264 

Would  waste  attention  at  the  checker'd  board. 
His  host  of  wooden  warriors  to  and  fro 
Marching  and  countfer-marching,  with  an  eye 
As  fix'd  as  marble,  with  a  foreliead  ridged 
And  furrow'd  into  storms,  and  with  a  hand 
Trembling,  as  if  eternity  were  hung 
In  balance  on  his  conduct  of  a  pin? 
Nor  envies  he  aught  more  their  idle  sport. 
Who  pant  with  application  misapplied 
To  trivial  toys,  and,  pushing  ivory  balls 
Across  a  velvet  level,  feel  a  joy  275 


280  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Akin  to  rapture,  when  the  bauble  finds 

Its  destined  goal,  of  difficult  access. 

Nor  deems  he  wiser  him,  who  gives  liis  noon 

To  Miss,  tlie  mercer's  plague,  from  shop  to  shop 

AVandering,  and  littering  with  unfolded  silks 

The  poHsh'd  counter,  and  approving  none, 

Or  promising  with  smiles  to  call  again. 

Nor  him  who,  by  his  vanity  seduced. 

And  soothed  into  a  dream  that  he  discerns 

The  difference  of  a  Guido  from  a  daub,  285 

Frequents  the  crowded  auction :  stationed  there 

As  duly  as  the  Langford  of  the  show, 

With  glass  at  eye,  and  catalogue  in  hand, 

And  tongue  accomplished  in  the  fulsome  cant 

And  pedaiitry  that  coxcombs  learn  with  ease ; 

Oft  as  the  price-deciding  hammer  falls. 

He  notes  it  in  his  book,  tlien  raps  his  box. 

Swears" 'tis  a  bargain,  rails  at  his  hard  fate, 

Tliat  lie  has  let  it  pass — but  never  bids. 

Here,  unmolested,  through  whatever  sign 
The  sun  proceeds,  I  wander.     Neither  mist,  29 G 

Nor  freezing  sky,  nor  sultry,  checking  me. 
Nor  stranger  intermeddling  with  my  joy. 
Even  in  the  spring  and  playtime  of  the  year, 
That  calls  the  unwonted  villager  abroad 
With  all  her  little  ones,  a  sportive  train. 
To  gather  kingcups  in  the  yellow  mead, 
And  prink  their  hair  with  daisies,  or  to  pick 
A  cheap  but  wliolesome  salad  from  the  brook, 
These  shades  are  all  my  own.     The  timorous  hare, 
Grown  so  familiar  with  her  frecpient  guest, 
Scarce  shuns  me  ;  and  the  stockdove,  unalarm'd,        307 
Sits  cooing  in  the  pine-tree,^  nor  suspends 
His  long  love-ditty  for  my  near  approacrli. 
Drawn  from  his  refuge  in  some  lonely  elm. 
That  age  or  injury  has  hollow'd  deep. 
Where,  on  his  bed  of  wool  and  matted  leaves, 
He  has  outslept  tlie  winter,  ventures  forth 
To  frisk  awhile,  and  bask  in  the  ^vann  sun. 
The  squirrel,  flippant,  pert,  and  full  of  play : 
He  sees  me,  and  at  once,  swift  as  a  bird. 
Ascends  the  neighboring  beech ;  there  whisks  his  brush,  i 
And  perks  his  ears,  and  stamps,  and  scolds  aloud,     -31^ 


THE    TASK.  281 

"Witli  all  tlie  prettiness  of  feign'd  alarm, 
And  anger  insignificantly  fierce.  / 

TJieheart  is  Iiard  iji^oaUtfeTana  unfit 
For  human  fellowship,  as  being  void 
Of  sympathy,  and  therefore  clead  alike 
To  love  and  friendsliip  botli,  that  is  not  pleased 
"With  sight  of  animals  enjoying  life, 
!N"or  feels  their  happiness  augment  liis  own. 
The  hounding  fa\vn,  tliat  darts  across  the  glade 
When  none  pursues,  tlirough  mere  delight  of  heart,    328 
And  spirits  buoyant  with  excess  of  glee; 
The  horse  as  wanton,  and  almost  as  fieet, 
That  skims  the  spacious  meadow  at  full  speed, 
Then  stops,  and  snorts,  and,  throwing  high  his  heels, 
Starts  to  the  voluntary  rac^  again ; , 
The  very  kine,  that  gambol  at  higli  noon. 
The  total  herd  receiving  first  from  one. 
That  leads  the  dance  a  summons  to  be  gay. 
Though  wild  their  strange  vagaries,  and  uncouth 
Their  eftbrts,  yet  resolved  with  one  consent 
To  give  such  act  and  utterance  as  they  may  339 

To  ecstasy  too  big  to  be  suppressed ; — 
These,  and  a  thousand  images  of  bliss, 
AVith  which  kind  Nature  graces  every  scene, 
Where  cruel  man  defeats  not  her  design. 
Impart  to  the  benevolent,  who  wish 
All  that  are  capable  of  pleasure  x>leaseO 
A  far  superior  happiness  to  theirs,   _^r  — — ^      ^"T  C^^ 
V  Tlie  comfort  of  a  reasonable  joy.  ,ri^y  ^ 

Mah'^(jliR!U  iuiVl'-yteiji;UAmMrt  to  His  call 
Who  formVl  him  from  the  dust,  his  future  grave, 
When  he  was  crown'd  as  never  king  was  since.  350 

God  set  the  diadem  upon  his  head. 
And  angel  choirs  attended.     Wondering  stood 
The  new-made  monarch,  while  before  him  pass'd, 
All  happy,  and  all  perfect  in  their  kind. 
The  creatures,  summoned  from  their  various  haunts, 
To  see  their  sovereign,  and  confess- his  .sway. 
Vast  was  his  empire,  absolute  his  power, 
Or  bounded  only  by  a  law  whose  force 
'Twas  his  sublimest  privilege  to  feel 
And  own,  the  law  of  universal  love. 
He  ruled  with  meekness,  they  obey'd  with  joy ;  3G1 


82  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

i^To  cruel  purpose  lurkVl  within  ]iis  lieart, 

And  no  distrust  of  his  intent  in  theirs. 

So  Eden  was  a  scene  of  harmless  sport, 

Where  kindness  on  his  part  who  ruled  the  whole 

Begat  a  tranquil  confidence  in  all, 

And  fear  as  yet  was  not,  nor  cause  for  fear. 

But  sin  marr'd  all ;  and  the  revolt  of  man, 

That  source  of  evils  not  exhausted  yet, 

"Was  punished  Avith  revolt  of  his  from  him. 

Garden  of  God,  how  terrihle  the  change  371 

Tliy  groves  and  lawns  then  witnessed !    Every  heart, 

Each  animal,  of  every  name,  conceived 

A  jealousy  and  an  instinctive  fear. 

And,  conscious  of  some  danger,  either  fled 

Precipitate  the  loathed  abode  of  man, 

Or  growl'd  defiance  in  such  angry  sort. 

As  taught  him  too  to  tremble  in  his  turn. 

Thus  harmony  and  family  accord 

^Yere  driven  from  Paradise;  and  in  that. hour 

The  seeds  of  cruelty,  that  since  have  swelPd 

To  such  gigantic  and  enormous  groAvth,  882 

Were  sown  in  human  nature's  fruitful  soil. 

Hence  date  the  persecution  and  the  pain 

That  man  inflicts  on  all  inferior  kinds. 

Regardless  of  their  plaints.     To  make  him  sport, 

To  gratify  the  frenzy  of  his  wrath, 

Or  his  base  gluttony,  are  causes  good 

Ajid.  just,  in  his  account,  why  bird  and  beast 

Should  suffer  torture,  and  the  streams  be  dyed 

With  blood  of  their  inhabitants  impaled. 

Earth  groans  beneath  the  burden  of  a  war 

Waged  with  defenceless  innocence,  while  he,  893 

Not  satisfied  to  prey  on  all  around. 

Adds  tenfold  bitterness  to  death,  by  pangs 

Needless,  and  first  torments  ere  he  devours. 

Now  happiest  they  that  occupy  the  scenes 

Tlie  most  remote  from  liis  abhorrVl  resort, 

AVhom  once,  as  delegate  of  God  on  earth, 

They  fear'd,  and  as  his  perfect  image  loved. 

The  wilderness  is  theirs,  with  all  its  caves, 

Its  hollow  glens,  its  thickets,  and  its  plains, 

Unvisited  by  man.    There  they  are  free. 

And  howl  and  roar  as  likes  them,  nncontroll'd ;  404 


i 


\ 

THE    TASK.  2^ 

N"or  ask  his  leave  to  slumber  or  to  play. 

Woe  to  tlie  tyrant,  if  li§  dare  intrude 

AVitliin  the  confines  of  their  wild  domain! 

The  Lion  tells  him — I  am  monarch  here ! 

And  if  he  spare  him,  spares  him  on  the  terms 

Of  royal  mercy,  and  through  generous  scorn 

To  rend  a  victim  trembling  at  his  foot. 

In  measure,  as  by  force  of  instinct  drawn, 

Or  by  necessity  constrained,  they  live 

Dependent  upon  man ;  those  in  his  fields,  414 

Xliese  at  his  crib,  and  some  beneath  his  roof: 

They  prove  too  often  at  how  dear  a  rate 

He  sells  protection. — Witness  at  his  foot 

The  spaniel  dying  for  some  venial  fault, 

Under  dissection  of  the  knotted  scourge ; 

Witness  the  patient  ox,  with  stripes  and  yells 

Driven  to  the  slaughter,  goaded,  as  he  runs, 

To  madness ;  while  the  savage  at  his  heels 

Laughs  at  the  frantic  sufferer's  fury,  spent 

Upon  the  guiltless  passenger  overthrown. 

He  too  is  witness,  noblest  of  the  train  425 

That  wait  on  man,  the  flight-performing  horse; 

With  unsuspecting  readiness  he  takes 

His  murderer  on  his  back,  and,  push'd  all  day, 

With  bleeding  sides,  and  flanks  that  heave  for  life, 

"To  the  far  distant  goal,  arrives  and  dies. 

So  little  mercy  shows  who  needs  so  much ! 

Does  law,  so  jealous  in  the  cause  of  man. 

Denounce  no  doom  on  the  delinquent?    None. 

He  lives,  and  o'er  his  brimming  beaker  boasts 

(As  if  barbarity  were  high  desert) 

The  inglorious  feat,  and,  clamorous  in  praise  430 

Of  the  poor  brute,  seems  wisely  to  suppose 

The  honors  of  his  matchless  horse  his  own. 

But  many  a  crime,  deem'd  innocent  on  earth. 

Is  registered  in  Heaven ;  and  these,  no  doubt, 

Have  each  their  record,  with  a  curse  annex'd. 

Man  may  dismiss  compassion  from  his  lieart. 

But  God  will  never.    When  he  charged  the  Jew 

To  assist  his  foe's  down-fallen  beast  to  rise  ; 

And  when  the  bush-exploring  boy,  that  seized 

The  young,  to  let  the  parent  bird  go  free; 

Proved  he  not  plainly  that  his  meaner  works  447 


284  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Are  yet  his  care,  and  have  an  interest  all, 

All,  in  the  universal  Father's  l(^ve? 

On  Noah,  and  in  him  on  all  mankind. 

The  charter  was  conferred,  by  which  we  hold 

The  flesh  of  animals  in  fee,  and  claim 

O'er  all  we  feed  on,  power  of  life  and  death. 

But  read  the  instrument,  and  mark  it  well : 

The  oppression  of  a  tyrannous  control 

Can  find  no  warrant  there.    Feed,  then,  and  yield 

Thanks  for  thy  food.    Carnivorous,  through  sin,         457 

Feed  on  the  slain,  but  spare  the  living  brute !  ^ 

The  Governor  of  all,  himself  to  all 
So  bountiful,  in  whose  attentive  ear 
The  unfledged  raven  and  the  lion's  whelp 
Plead  not  in  vain  for  pity  on  the  pangs 
Of  hunger  unassuaged,  has  interposed, 
Not  seldom,  his  avenging  arm,  to  smite 
The  injurious  tram  pier  upon  Nature's  law. 
That  claims  forbearance  even  for  a  brute. 
He  hates  the  hardness  of  a  Balaam's  lieart ; 
And,  prophet  as  he  was,  he  might  not  strike  468 

The  blameless  animal,  without  rebuke, 
On  wliich  he  rode :  her  opportune  offence 
Saved  him,  or  the  um-elenting  seer  had  died. 
He  sees  that  human  equity  is  slack 
To  interfere,  though  in  so  just  a  cause. 
And  makes  the  task  his  own ;  inspiring  dumb 
And  helpless  victims  with  a  sense  so  keen 
Of  injury,  with  such  knowledge  of  their  strength, 
And  such  sagacity  to  take  revenge, 
That  oft  the  beast  has  seem'd  to  judge  tlie  man. 
An  ancient,  not  a  legendary  tale,  479 

By  one  of  sound  intelligence  rehearsed 
(If  such  who  plead  for  Providence  may  seem 
In  modern  eyes),  shall  make  the  doctrine  clear. 

Where  England,  stretch'd  towards  the  setting  sun, 
Narrow  and  long,  o'erlooks  the  western  wave, 
Dwelt  young  Misagathus ;  a  scorner  he 
Of  God  and  goodness,  atheist  in  ostent, 
Vicious  in  act,  in  temper  savage-fierce.  • 
He  journey'd;  and  his  chance  was,  as  he  went, 
To  join  a  traveller,  of  far  different  note — 
Evander,  famed  for  piety,  for  years 


THE    TASK.  285 

Deserving  honor,  btit  for  wisdom  more. 

Fame  had  not  Jeft  tlie  venerable  man 

A  stranger  to  the  manners  of  the  youth, 

Whose  face,  too,  was  familiar  to  his  view. 

Tlieir  way.  was  on  the  margin  of  the  land, 

O'er  the  green  summit  of  the  rocks,  whose  base 

Beats  back  the  roaring  surge,  scarce  heard  so  high. 

The  charity  that  warm'd  his  heart  was  moved 

At  sight  of  the  man-monster.    With  a  smile 

Gentle,  and  affable,  and  full  of  grace,  500 

As  fearful  of  offending  whom  he  wish'd 

Much  to  persuade,  he  plied  liis  ear  with  truths, 

Not  harshly  thunder'd  forth,  or  rudely  press'd, 

But,  like  his  purpose,  gracious,  kind,  and  sweet. 

"And  dost  thou  dream,"  the  impenetrable  man 

Exclaim'd,  "  that  me  the  lullabies  of  age, 

And  fantasies  of  dotards  such  as  thou, 

Can  cheat,  or  move  a  moment's  fear  in  me? 

Mark  now  the  proof  I  give  thee,  that  the  brave 

Need  no  such  aids  as  superstition  lends. 

To  steel  their  hearts  against  the  dread  of  death !"       511 

He  spoke,  and  to  the  precipice  at  hand 

Push'd  with  a  madman's  fury.    Fancy  shrinks. 

And  the  blood  thrills  and  curdles,  at  the  thought 

Of  such  a  gulf  as  he  design'd  his  grave. 

But,  though  the  felon  on  his  back  could  dare 

The  dreadful  leap,  more  rational,  his  steed 

Dechned  the  death,  and  wheeling  swiftly  round. 

Or  e'er  his  hoof  had  press'd  tlie  crumbling  verge, 

Baffled  his  rider,  saved  against  his  will. 

The  frenzy  of  the  brain  may  be  redress'd 

By  medicine  well  applied,  but  without  grace  522 

The  heart's  insanity  admits  no  cure. 

Enraged  the  m.ore  by  what  might  have  reform'd 

His  horrible  intent,  again  he  sought 

Destruction,  with  a  zeal  to  be  destroy'd. 

With  sounding  whip,  and  rowels  dyed  in  blood. 

But  still  in  vain.     Tlie  Providence  that  meant 

A  longer  date  to  the  far  nobler  beast. 

Spared  yet  again  the  ignobler  for  liis  sake. 

And  now,  his  prowess  proved,  and  his  sincere 

Incurable  obduracy  evinced. 

His  rage  grew  cool ;  and,  pleased  perhaps  to  have  earn'd 


286  cowper's  poetical  works. 

So  clieaply  the  renown  of  that  attempt, 
Witli  looks  of  some  complacence  he  resiyned 
Ills  road,  deriding  much  the  blank  amaze 
Of  good  Evander,  still  where  he  Avas  left 
Fix'd  motionless,  and  petrified  with  dread. 
So  on  they  fared :  discourse  on  other  themes 
Ensuing,  seem'd  to  obliterate  the  past ; 
And  tamer  far  for  so  much  fury  shown 
(As  is  the  course  of  rash  and  fiery  men). 
The  rude  companion  smiled,  as  if  transform'd.  543 

But  'twas  a  transient  calm.     A  storm  was  near, 
An  unsuspected  storm.     His  hour  was  come. 
The  impious  challenger  of  Power  divine 
Was  now  to  learn,  that  Heaven,  though  sIoav  to  wrath, 
Is  never  with  impunity  defied. 
His  horse,  as  he  had  caught  his  master's  mood, 
Snorting,  and  starting  into  sudden  rage, 
Unbidden,  and  not  now  to  be  controll'd, 
Rush'd  to  the  cliflP,  and,  having  reach'd  it,  stood. 
At  once  the  shock  unseated  him :  he  flew 
•  Sheer  o'er  the  craggy  barrier,  and,  immersed  554 

Deep  in  the  flood,  found,  when  he  sought  it  not. 
The  death  he  had  deserved,  and  died  alone. 
So  God  wrought  double  justice ;  made  the  fool 
The  victim  of  his  own  tremendous  choice, 
And  taught  a  brute  the  way  to  safe  revenge. 

1  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  graced  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path ;  565 

33ut  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarn'd, 
AY  ill  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
And  charged  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes, 
A  visitor  unwelcome,  into  scenes 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  the  alcove, 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die : 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds. 
And  guiltless  of  oftence,  they  range  the  air. 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field :  5T6 


THE    TASK.  287 

There  they  are  privileged ;  and  he  that  hunts 

Or  harms  them  there,  is  guilty  of  a  wrong — 

Disturbs  the  economy  of  Nature's  realm, 

Who,  when  she  form'd,  design'd  them  an  abode. 

The  sum  is  this*:  If  man's  convenience,  health,       , 

Or  safety,  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims  ^  , 

Are  paramount,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 

Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  things  that  are,. 

As  free  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  that  life. 

As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first,  586 

"Who  in  his  sovereign  wisdom  made  them  all. 

Ye  therefore  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 

To  love  it  too.     The  spring-time  of  our  years 

Is  soon  dishonored  and  defiled  in  most 

By  budding  ills,  that  ask  a  prudent  hand 

To  check  them.     But,  alas!  none  sooner  shoots, 

If  unrestrain'd,  into  luxuriant  growth, 

Than  cruelty,  most  devihsh  of  them  all. 

Mercy  to  him  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule 

And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act, 

By  which  Heaven  moves  in  pardoning  guilty  man ;    597 

And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 

And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits. 

Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it,  in  his  turn. 

Distinguish'd  much  by  reason,  and  still  more 
By  our  capacity  of  grace  divine. 
From  creatures  that  exist  but  for  our  sake. 
Which,  having  served  us,  perisli,  we  are  held 
Accountable ;  and  God,  some  future  day, 
Will  reckon  with  us  roundly  for  the  abuse 
Of  what  he  deems  no  mean  or  trivial  trust. 
Superior  as  we  are,  they  yet  depend  608 

IlTot  more  on  human  help,  than  we  on  theirs. 
Their  strength,  or  speed,  or  vigilance,  were  given 
In  aid  of  our  defects.     In  some  are  found 
Such  teachable  and  apprehensive  parts. 
That  man's  attainments  in  his  own  concerns, 
Match'd  witli  the  expertness  of  the  brutes  in  theirs, 
Are  ofttimes  vanquisli'd,  and  thrown  far  behind. 
Some  show  that  nice  sagacity  of  smell. 
And  read  with  such  discernment,  in  tlie  port 
And  figure  of  the  man,  his  secret  aim, 
That  oft  we  owe  our  safety  to  a  skill  619 


288  cowper's  poetical  avorks. 

We  could  not  teach,  and  must  despair  to  learn. 

But  learn  we  might,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop 

To  quadruped  instructors,  many  a  good 

And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 

Karely  exemplified  among  ourselves ;— * 

Attachment  never  to  be  wean'd,  or  clianged 

By  any  change  of  fortune ;  proof  alike 

Against  unkindness,  absence,  and  neglect ; 

Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe  nor  threat 

Can  move  or  warp ;  and  gratitude  for  small  629 

And  trivial  favors,  lasting  as  the  life, 

And  glistening  even  in  the  dying  eye. 

Man  praises  man.     Desert  in  arts  or  arms 
Wins  public  honor ;  and  ten  thousand  sit 
Patiently  present  at  a  sacred  song. 
Commemoration-mad ;  content  to  hear 
(O  wonderful  eflfect  of  music's  power !) 
Messiah's  eulogy  for  Handel's  sake. 
But  less,  methinks,  than  sacrilege  might  serve — 
(For,  Avas  it  less,  what  heathen  would  have  dared 
To  strip  Jove's  statue  of  his  oaken  wreath,  G4:0 

And  hang  it  up  in  honor  of  a  man?) 
Much  less  might  serve,  when  all  that  we  design 
Is  but  to  gratify  an  itching  ear. 
And  give  the  day  to  a  musician's  praise. 
Eemember  Ilandel?     Who  that  was  not  born 
Deaf  as  the  dead  to  harmony,  forgets, 
Or  can,  the  more  than  Homer  of  his  age  ? 
Yes — we  remember  hini ;  and  while  we  praise 
A  talent  so  divine,  remember  too 
That  His  most  holy  book  from  whom  it  came, 
Was  never  meant,  was  never  used  before,  651 

To  buckram  out  the  memory  of  a  man. 
But  hush  ! — the  Muse  perhaps  is  too  severe ; 
And  with  a  gravity  beyond  the  size 
And  measure  of  the  often ce,  rebukes  a  deed 
Less  impious  than  absurd,  and  owing  more 
To  want  of  judgment  than  to  wrong  design. 
So  in  the  chapel  of  old  Ely  House, 
When  wandering  Charles,  who  meant  to  be  the  third, 
Had  fled  from  William,  and  the  news  was  fresh, 
The  simple  clerk,  but  loyal,  did  announce. 
And  eke  did  rear  right  merrily,  two  staves.  662 


THE    TASK.  289 

Sung  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  King  George ! 
— Man  praises  man ;  and  Garrick's  memory  next, 
When  time  hath  somewliat  mellow'd  it,  and  made 
The  idol  of  our  worship  while  he  lived, 
Tlie  god  of  our  idolatry  once  more, 
Shall  have  its  altar ;  and  the  world  shall  go 
In  pilgrimage  to  bow  before  his  shrine. 
The  theatre,  too  small,  shall  suffocate 
Its  squeezed  contents ;  and  more  than  it  admits 
Shall  sigh  at  their  exclusion,  and  return  672; 

Ungratilied.     For  there  some  noble  lord 
Shall  stuif  his  shoulders  with  King  Richard's  bunch. 
Or  wrap  himself  in  Hamlet's  inky  cloak. 
And  strut,  and  storm,  and  straddle,  stamp  and  stare, 
To  show  the  world  how  Garrick  did  not  act — 
For  Garrick  was  a  worshipper  himself; 
He  drew  the  liturgy,  and  framed  the  rites 
And  solemn  ceremonial  of  the  day, 
And  call'd  the  world  to  worship  on  the  banks 
Of  Avon,  famed  in  song.     Ah,  pleasant  proof 
That  piety  has  still  in  human  hearts  683- 

Some  place,  a  spark  or  two  not  yet  extinct ! 
The  mulberry-tree  v/as  hung  with  blooming  wreaths; 
The  mulberry-tree  stood  centre  of  the  dance ; 
The  mulberry-tree  was  liymn'd  with  dulcet  airs; 
And  from  his  touchwood  trunk  the  mulberry-tree 
Supplied  such  relics  as  devotion  holds 
Still  sacred,  and  preserves  with  pious  care. 
So  'twas  a  hallow'd  time :  decorum  reign'd. 
And  mirth  without  oifence.     No  few  return'd, 
Doubtless,  much  edified,  and  all  refresh'd. 
— Man  praises  man.     The  rabble,  all  alive,  691 

From  tippling  benches,  cellars,  stalls,  and  styes, 
Swarm  in  the  streets.     The  statesman  of  the  day, 
A  pompous  and  slow-moving  pageant,  comes. 
Some  shout  him,  and  some  liang  upon  his  car. 
To  gaze  in  his  eyes,  and  bless  him.     Maidens  wave 
Their  kerchiefs,  and  old  women  weep  for  joy : 
While  others,  not  so  satisfied,  unhorse 
The  gilded  equipage,  and,  turning  loose 
His  steeds,  usurp  a  place  t+!ey  well  deserve. 
Why  ?  what  has  charm'd  them  ?   Hath  he  saved  the  state? 
No.     Doth  he  purpose  its  salvation?    No.  705 

25 


290  COWPEU'S    POETICAL    AVORKS. 

Enchanting  novelty,  that  moon  at  full, 

That  finds  out  every  crevice  of  the  liead 

That  is  not  sound  and  perfect,  hath  in  theirs 

AYrought  this  disturbance.     But  the  wane  is  near, 

And  his  own  cattle  must  suffice  him  soon. 

Thus  idly  do  we  waste  the  breath  of  praise, 

And  dedicate  a  tribute,  in  its  use 

And  just  direction  sacred,  to  a  thing 

Doom'd  to  the  dust,  or  lodged  already  there. 

Encomium  in  old  time  was  poets'  work : 

But  poets, 'having  lavishly  long  since 

Exhausted  all  materials  of  the  art. 

The  task  now  falls  into  the  public  hand ; 

And  I,  contented  with  an  humble  theme, 

Have  poured  my  stream  of  panegyric  down 

The  vale  of  Kature,  where  it  creeps  and  winds 

Among  her  lovely  works,  with  a  secure 

And  unambitious  course,  reflecting  clear. 

If  not  the  virtues,  yet  the  worth  of  brutes. 

And  I  am  recompensed,  and  deem  the  toils 

Of  poetry  not  lost,  if  verse  of  mine 

May  stand  between  an  animal  and  woe, 

And  teach  one  tyrant  pity  for  his  drudge. 

The  groans  of  Nature  in  this  nether  world, 
Which  Heaven  has  heard  for  ages,  have  an  end. 
Foretold  by  prophets,  and  by  poets  sung, 
"Whose  fire  Avas  kindled  at  the  prophets'  lamp. 
The  time  of  rest,  the  promised  Sabbath,  comes. 
Six  thousand  years  of  sorrow  have  well-nigh 
Eulfiird  their  tardy  and  disastrous  course 
Over  a  sinful  world ;  and  what  remains 
Of  this  tempestuous  state  of  human  things 
Is  merely  as  the  working  of  a  sea 
Before  a  calm,  that  rocks  itself  to  rest : 
For  He,  whose  car  the  winds  are,  and  the  clouds 
The  dust  that  waits  upon  his  sultry  march. 
When  sin  hath  moved  liim,  and  his  Avrath  is  hot, 
Shall  visit  earth  in  mercy ;  shall  descend 
Propitious  in  his  chariot  paved  with  love; 
And  what  his  storms  have  blasted  and  defaced 
For  man's  revolt,  shall  with  a  smile  repair. 

Sweet  is  the  harp  of  prophecy ;  too  sweet 
Not  to  be  wrong'd  by  a  mere  mortal  touch : 


THE    TASK.  291 

!N"or  can  the  wonders  it  records  be  sung 

To  meaner  music,  and  not  suffer  loss. 

But  wlien  a  poet,  or  when  one  like  me, 

Happy  to  rove  among  poetic  flowers, 

TJiough  poor  in  skill  to  rear  them,  lights  at  last 

On  some  fair  theme,  some  theme  divinely  fair — 

Such  is  the  impulse  and  the  spur  he  feels. 

To  give  it  praise  proportion'd  to  its  worth. 

That  not  to  attempt  it,  arduous  as  he  deems 

The  labor,  were  a  task  more  arduous  still.  758 

O  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true. 
Scenes  of  accomplish'd  bliss !  which  who  can  see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refresh'd  with  foretaste  of  the  joy  ? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth, 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty ;  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  held 
Laughs  with  abundance ;  and  the  land,  once  lean, 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace. 
Exults  to  see  its  thistly  curse  repeaFd. 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one,  769 

And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring ; 
The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence, 
For  there  is  none  to  covet,  all  are  full. 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear, 
Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks ;  all  bask  at  noon 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 
Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream 
Antipathies  are  none.     No  foe  to  man 
Liu-ks  in  the  serpent  now :  the  mother  sees, 
And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant's  playful  hand 
Stretch'd  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  worm,  780 

To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 
The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place : 
That  creeping  pestilence  is  driven  away ; 
The  breath  of  Heaven  has  chased  it.     In  the  heart 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string. 
But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not:  tlie  pure  and  uncontaminate  blood 
Holds  its  due  course,  nor  fears  the  frost  of  age. 
One  song  employs  all  nations;  and  all  cry,  701 


292  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us!" 

The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 

Shout  to  each  other ;  and  the  mountain-tops 

From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy ; 

Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 

Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  Ilosanna  round. 

Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  fill'd  ; 

See  Salem  built,  the  labor  of  a  God ! 

Bright  as  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines ; 

All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  eartli  801 

Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  lands 

Flows  into  her ;  unbounded  is  her  joy. 

And  endless  her  increase.     Thy  rams  are  there, 

ISTebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar^  there; 

The  looms  of  Ormus  and  the  mines  of  Ind, 

And  Saba's  spicy  groves,  pay  tribute  there. 

Praise  is  in  all  her  gates :  upon  her  walls. 

And  in  her  streets,  and  in  her  spacious  courts, 

Is  heard  salvation.     Eastern  Java  there 

Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  fcirthest  west ; 

And  Ethiopia  spreads  abroad  the  hand,  812 

And  worships.     Her  report  has  travell'd  forth 

Into  all  lands.     From  every  clime  they  come 

To  see  thy  beauty,  and  to  share  thy  joy, 

O  Zion !  an  assembly  such  as  earth 

Saw  never,  such  as  Heaven  stoops  down  to  see. 

Thus  heavenward  all  things  tend.     For  all  were  once 
Perfect,  and  all  must  be  at  length  restored. 
So  God  has  greatly  purposed ;  who  would  else 
In  his  dishonored  works  himself  endure 
Dishonor,  and  be  wrong'd  without  redress. 
Haste  then,  and  Avheel  away  a  shatter'd  world,  823 

Ye  slow-revolving  seasons !  we  would  see 
(A  sight  to  which  our  eyes  are  strangers  yet) 
A  world  that  does  not  dread  and  hate  his  laws, 
And  suffer  for  its  crime ;  Avould  learn  how  fair 
The  creature  is  that  God  pronounces  good, 
How  pleasant  in  itself  what  pleases  him. 
Here  every  drop  of  honey  hides  a  sting ; 
Worms  wind  themselves  into  our  sweetest  flowers; 

J  ISIe^baioth  and  Kedar,  the  sons  of  Ishinael,  and  progenitors  of  the  Arabs, 
in  the  prophetic  Scripture  here  alhidcd  to,  may  be  reasonably  considered  as 
representatives  of  the  Gentiles  at  large.' 


THE   TASK.  ^^5;^Jlj!Li^^^93 

And  even  the  joy  that  haply  some  poor  heart 
Derives  from  heaven,  pure  as  the  fountain  is, 
Is  sullied  in  the  stream ;  taking  a  taint 
From  touch  of  human  lips,  at  best  impure. 
Oh  for  a  world  in  principle  as  chaste 
As  this  is  gross  and  selfish !  over  which 
Custom  and  prejudice  shall  bear  no  sway, 
That  govern  all  things  here,  shouldering  aside 
The  meek  and  modest  TruthJ  and  forcing  her 
To  seek  a  refuge  from  the  tongue  of  Strife  841 

In  nooks  obscure,  far  from  the  ways  of  men  : 
Where  Violence  shall  never  lift  the  sword, 
Nor  Cunning  justify  the  proud  man's  wrong, 
Leaving  the  poor  no  remedy  but  tears : 
Where  he  that  fills  an  office  shall  esteem 
The  occasion  it  presents  of  doing  good 
^OYQ  than  the  perquisite :  where  Law  shall  speak 
Seldom,  and  never  but  as  Wisdom  prompts 
And  Equity;  not  jealous  more  to  guard 
A  worthless  form,  than  to  decide  aright : 
Where  Fashion  shall  not  sanctify  abuse,  852 

ITor  smooth  Good-breeding  (supplemental  grace) 
With  lean  performance  ape  the  work  of  Love ! 
■^    Come,  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  crowns,    " 
Receive  yet  one,  the  crown  of  all  the  earth. 
Thou  who  alone  art  worthy !    It  was  thine 
By  ancient  covenant,  ere  Nature's  birth ; 
And  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  purchase  since, 
And  overpaid  its  value  with  thy  blood. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  King;  and  in  their  hearts 
Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 

Dipp'd  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love.  8G3 

Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  King ;  and  thy  delay 
Gives  courage  to  their  foes,  who,  could  they  see 
The  dawn  of  thy  Last  Advent,  long  desired. 
Would  creep  into  the  bowels  of  the  hills, 
And  flee  for  safety  to  the  falling  rocks. 
The  very  spirit  of  the  world  is  tired 
Of  its  own  taunting  question,  ask'd  so  long, 
"  Where  is  the  promise  of  your  Lord's  approach  ?" 
The  infidel  has  shot  his  bolts  away, 
Till,  his  exhausted  quiver  yielding  none. 
He  gleans  the  blunted  shafts  that  have  recoil'd, 


294  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  aims  them  at  the  shield  of  Truth  again. 

The  veil  is  rent,  rent  too  by  priestly  hands, 

That  hides  divinity  from  mortal  eyes; 

And  all  the  mysteries  to  faitli  proposed, 

Insulted  and  traduced,  are  cast  aside. 

As  useless,  to  the  moles  and  to  the  bats. 

They  now  are  deem'd  the  faithful,  and  are  praised, 

Who,  constant  only  in  rejecting  thee. 

Deny  tliy  Godhead  with  a  martyr's  zeal. 

And  quit  their  office  for  their  error's  sake.  88< 

Blind,  and  in  love  with  darkness !  yet  even  these 

Worthy,  compared  with  sycophants,  who  knee 

Thy  name  adoring,  and  tlien  preach  thee  man! 

So  fares  thy  Church.     But  how  thy  Church  may  fare, 

The  world  takes  little  thought.  .  AVho  Avill  may  preach, 

And  what  they  will.     All  pastors  are  alike 

To  wandering  sheep,  resolved  to  follow  none. 

Two  gods  divide  them  all — Pleasure  and  Gain: 

Tor  these  they  live,  tliey  sacrifice  to  these. 

And  in  their  service  wage  perpetual  war 

"With  Conscience  and  with  thee.   Lust  in  their  hearts,  89i 

And  mischief  in  their  hands,  they  roam  the  earth 

To  prey  upon  each  other ;  stubborn,  fierce. 

High-minded,  foaming  out  their  own  disgrace. 

Thy  prophets  speak  of  such;  and,  noting  down 

The  features  of  the  last  degeneratej:imes. 

Exhibit  every  lineament  of  these. 

Come,  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 

Receive  yet  one,  as  radiant  as  the  rest. 

Due  to  thy  last  and  most  effectual  work. 

Thy  word  fulfiU'd,  the  conquest  of  a  world ! 

He  is  the  happy  man,  whose  life  even  now  90' 

Shows  somewhat  of  that  happier  life  to  come ; 
Who,  doom'^  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  state. 
Is  pleased  with  it,  and,  were  he  free  to  choose. 
Would  make  his  fate  his  choice ;  whom  peace,  the  fruit 
Of  virtue,  and  wbom  virtue,  fruit  of  faith. 
Prepare  for  happiness ;  bespeak  him  one 
Content  indeed  to  sojourn  while  he  must 
Below  the  skies,  but,  having  there  his  home. 
The  world  o'erlooks  him  in  her  busy  search 
Of  objects  more  illustrious  in  her  view  ; 
And,  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she,  911 


THE   TASK.  295 

Tliongli  more  sublimely,  lie  overlooks  the  world. 

She  scorns  liis  pleasures,  for  she  knows  them  not ; 

He  seeks  not  hers,  for  he  has  proved  them  vain. 

He  cannot  skim  the  ground  like  summer  birds 

Pursuing  gilded  liies;  and  such  he  deems 

Her  honors,  her  emoluments,  Iier  joys. 

Therefore  in  contemplation  is  his  bliss, 

AVhose  power  is  such,  that  whom  she  lifts  from  earth 

She  makes  fiimiliar  with  a  heaven  unseen, 

And  shows  him  glories  yet  to  be  reveal'd.  927 

Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemploy'd, 

And  censured  oft  as  useless.     Stillest  streams 

Oft  water  fairest  meadows,  and  the  bird 

That  flutters  least,  is  longest  on  the  wing. 

Ask  him,  indeed,  what  trophies  he  lias  raised, 

Or  what  achievements  of  immortal  fiime 

He  purposes,  and  he  shall  answer — None. 

His  warfore  is  within.     There  unfixtigued 

His  fervent  spirit  labors.     Tliere  he  tights. 

And  there  obtains  fresh  trium[)hs  o'er  liimself. 

And  never-withering  wreaths,  compared  with  which  938 

The  laurels  that  a  Ciesar  reai)S  are  weeds. 

Perhaps  the  self- approving  haughty  world. 

That,  as  she  sweeps  him  with  her  whistling  silks, 

Scarce  deigns  to  notice  him,  or,  if  she  see, 

Deems  him  a  cipher  in  the  works  of  God, 

Receives  advantage  from  his  noiseless  hours, 

Of  which  she  lijttle  dreams.     Perhaps  she  owes 

Her  sunshine  and  her  rain,  her  blooming  spring 

And  plenteous  harvest,  to  the  prayer  he  makes, 

"When,  Isaac  like,  tlie  solitary  saint 

"Walks  forth  to  meditate  at  eventide,  949 

And  think  on  her,  who  thinks  not  for  herself. 

Forgive  him  then,  thou  bustler  in  concerns 

Of  little  worth,  and  idler  in  the  best. 

If,  author  of  no  mischief  and  some  good, 

He  seek  his  proper  happiness  by  means 

That  may  advance,  but  canm)t  liinder,  thine. 

Nor,  thougli  he  tread  the  secret  path  of  life, 

Engage  no  notice,  and  enjoy  much  ease. 

Account  him  an  encumbrance  on  the  State, 

Keceiving  benefits,  and  rendering  none. 

His  sphere  thougli  humble,  if  that  humble  sphere        900 


290  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Shine  with  liis  fair  example,  and  though  small 

His  influence,  if  tliat  influence  all  be  spent 

In  soothing  sorrow  and  in  quencliing  slrife, 

In  aiding  helpless  indigence,  in  works 

From  wliich  at  least  a  grateful  few  derive 

Same  taste  of  comfort  in  a  world  of  woe; 

Tlien  let  tlie  supercilious  great  confess 

He  serves  his  country,  recompenses  well 

The  State  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  vine 

He  sits  secure,  and  in  the  scale  of  life  970 

Holds  no  ignoble,  though  a  slighted,  place. 

The  man  whose  virtues  are  more  felt  than  seen, 

Must  drop  indeed  tlie  hope  of  public  praise ; 

But  he  may  boast,  what  few  that  win  it  can. 

That,  if  his  country  stand  not  by  his  skill. 

At  least  his  follies  Iiave  not  wrought  her  fall. 

Polite  Refinement  offers  him  in  vain 

Her  golden  tube,  through  which  a  sensual  world 

Draws  gross  impurity,  and  likes  it  well  — 

The  neat  conveyance  hiding  all  the  oflTence. 

Not  that  he  peevishly  rejects  a  mode  981 

I^ecause  that  world  adopts  it.     If  it  bear 

The  stamp  and  clear  impression  of  good  sense, 

And  be  not  costly  more  than  of  true  worth, 

He  puts  it  on,  and  for  decorum  sake 

Can  w^ear  it  even  as  gracefully  as  she. 

She  judges  of  refinement  by  the  eye, 

He  by  tlie  test  of  conscience,  and  a  heart 

Not  soon  deceived ;  aware  that  what  is  base 

No  polish  can  make  sterling ;  and  that  vice, 

Though  well  perfumed  and  elegantly  dress'd. 

Like  an  unburied  carcase  trick'd  with  flowers,  { 

Is  but  a  garnish'd  nuisance,  fitter  far 

For  cleanly  riddance  than  for  fair  attire. 

So  life  glides  smoothly  and  by  stealth  away, 
More  golden  than  that  age  of  fabled  gold 
RenownVl  in  ancient  song ;  not  vex'd  with  care 
Or  stain'd  with  guilt;  beneficent,  approved 
Of  God  and  man,  and  peaceful  in  its  end. 
So  glide  my  life  away!  and  so  at  last. 
My  share  of  duties  decently  fulfilPd, 
May  some  disease,  not  tardy  to  perform 
Its  destined  office,  yet  with  gentle  stroke  1008 


THE    TASK.  2^*7 

Dismiss  nic  weary  to  a  safe  retreat, 

Beneatli  tlie  turf  tliat  I  have  often  trod. 

It  shall  not  grieve  nie,  then,  that  once,  when  call'd 

To  dress  a  Sofa  with,  the  flowers  of  verse, 

I  play'd  awhile,  obedient  to  the  fair, 

With  that  light  task ;  but  soon,  to  please  her  more 

Whom  flowers  alone  I  knew  would  little  please. 

Let  fall  the  unflnish'd  wreath,  and  roved  for  fruit; 

Ivoved  far,  and  gather'd  much :  some  harsh,  'tis  true, 

Pick'd  from  the  thorns  and  briers  of  reproof,  1013 

But  wholesome,  well  digested ;  grateful  some 

To  palates  that  can  taste  immortal  truth ; 

Insipid  else,  and  sure  to  be  despised. 

But  all  is  in  His  hand  whose  praise  I  seek. 

In  vain  the  poet  sings,  and  the  world  hears, 

If  He  regard  not,  though  divine  the  theme. 

'Tis  not  in  artful  measures,  in  the  chime 

And  idle  tinkling  of  a  minstrel's  lyre. 

To  charm  His  ear,  whose  eye  is  on  the  heart; 

Whose  frown  can  disappoint  the  proudest  strain, 

Whose  approbation — prosper  even  mine !  1024 


TIROCINIUM: 


A   REVIEW   OF    SCHOOLS. 


Kc(pa\a[ov  ^rj  Trai6dag  6j)Qi]  Tpo(J)r'i. — Plato. 
'A/^X'/  T^oXiTcias  UKdarjif  vtwv  Tpo(pd. — DiOG.  LaERT. 


To  the  Rev.  William  Cawthorne  Vnwin,  Redov  of  Stock  in  Essex^ 
the  tutor  of  his  tivo  so?iSj  the  followin(j  j^ocvi^  recommending  private 
Uiition  in  freference  to  an  education  at  school^  is  inscribed,  by  his 
affectionate  friend,  William  Cowper. 

Olney,  Nov.  6,  1784. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Man's  supremacy  over  the  inferior  creation  not  derived  from  his  outward  form,  but 
from  the  soul,  1— Creation  in  vain,  unless  subservient  to  the  purposes  of  an  immor- 
tal being:,  .35— Heavenly  truth  not  difficult  to  discover,  73— Man  made  to  discover 
and  declare  it.  100— Duty  of  making  it  known  to  the  young,  103— Importance  of 
infant  instruction,  109— Nursery  knowledge,  127— Pilgrim'sP^gress,  131— Happy 
if  such  studies  were  approved  in  riper  years,  147— Too  often  scorned  and  repudia- 
ted, 155— The  gospel  contemned,  false  philosophy  prevails,  and  early  religious 
impressions  are  effaced,  185— Corrupting  influence  of  large  schools,  201— Effects  o^ 
pernicious  example  on  the  young,  220— College,  240— Errors  in  education  arise 
from  following  established  precedents,  255— Teachers  connive  at  vices  in  the  young 
which  they  practised  themseTves,  269— Degeneracy  of  schoolSj__2Z*t~Causes  of  this, 
290- Early  school  associations,  296— Parents  recounting  their  early  follies  to  tlicir 
children,  318— Advancement  in  the  world  expected  from  friendships  formed  at 
school,  393— Prosecuted  by  unworthy  means,  and  tending  to  fatal  results,  401— 
School  friendships  not  always  permanent,  436— Emulation  a  questionable  motive 
of  action,  458— Its  evil  consequences  on  the  heart  and  temper,  470— Great  and  small 
schools  alike,  515— Beauty  of  parental  confidence  and  companionship,  537— Why 
resign  the  task  of  parental  instruction  to  strangers?  551— The  effect  of  absence  in 
destroying  confidence  between  father  and  son,  561— A  faithful  hand  necessary  to 
disperse  the  follies  of  youth,  591— The  classics  not  pnrjugji ^  fi(^){S— Stn^v  of  nature, 
630—  A  private  tutor  recommended,  658— Danger  of  association  with  servants,  688 
—  A  worthy  tutor  to  be  treated  with  respect,  705— Where  there  is  bad  example  at 
home,  board  in  some  retired  spot  recommended,  735— The  author's  advice  not 
likely  to  be  followed,  779— The  middle  ranks  addressed  on  the  disorders  which 
prevail  in  the  world  as  the  result  of  f chool-breeding,  807— Earnestly  warned  against 
coqpraitting  their  sons  to  schools,  871— Which  should  be  "better  managed  or  eu- 
couiaged  less,"  922. 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.        299 


It  is  not  from  his  form,  in  which  we  trace 

Strengtli  join'd  with  beauty,  dignity  with  grace, 

That  Man,  tlie  master  of  this  globe,  derives 

Ilis  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 

That  form,  indeed,  the  associate  of  a  mind 

Yast  in  its  powers,  ethereal  in  its  kind — 

That  form,  the  labor  of  Almighty  skill. 

Framed  for  the  service  of  a  freeborn  will,  8 

Asserts  precedence,  and  bespeaks  control. 

But  borrows  all  its  grandeur  from  the  soul. 

Hers  is  the  state,  the  s[)lendor,  and  the  throne. 

An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  her  own. 

For  her  the  Memory  tills  her  ample  page 

"With  truths  pour'd  down  from  every  distant  age; 

For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store, 

The  wisdom  of  great  nations,  now  no  more ; 

Though  laden,  not  encumber'd  with  her  spoil; 

Laborious,  yet  unconscious  of  her  toil ; 

When  copiously  supplied,  then  most  enlarged;  19 

Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  surcharged. 

For  her,  tlie  Fancy  roving  unconfined. 

The  present  Muse  of  every  pensive  mind. 

Works  magic  wonders,  adds  a  brighter  hue 

To  Nature's  scenes  than  Nature  ever  knew : 

At  her  command,  winds  rise  and  waters  roar. 

Again  she  lays  them  slumbering  on  the  shore; 

With  flower  and  fruit  the  wilderness  supplies, 

Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  arise. 

For  her,  the  Judgment,  umpire  in  the  strife 

Tliat  Grace  and  Nature  have  to  wage  through  life,       30 

Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill. 

Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  Will, 

Condemns,  approves,  and,  with  a  faitliful  voice, 

Guides  the  decision  of  a  doubtful  choice. 

AVhy  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth 
To  yon  fair  Sun  and  his  attendant  Earth? 
And,  when  descending  he  resigns  the  skies. 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise. 
Whom  Ocean  feels  through  all  his  countless  waves. 
And  owns  her  power  on  every  shore  he  laves  ? 
Wliy  do  the  Seasons  still  enrich  the  year,  41 


300  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Fruitful  and  young  as  in  their  first  career  ? 

Spring  hangs  her  infant  blossoms  on  the  trees, 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  western  breeze ; 

Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  charge  receives 

Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves, 

Till  Autumn's  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dews 

Dye  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues. — 

'Twere  wild  profusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 

Power  misemploy'd,  munificence  misplaced, 

Had  not  its  Author  dignified  the  plan,  51 

And  crown'd  it  with  the  majesty  of  Man. 

Thus  form'd,  thus  placed,  intelligent,  and  taught. 

Look  where  he  will,  the  wonders  God  has  wrought, 

The  wildest  scorner  of  his  Maker's  laws 

Finds  in  a  sober  moment  time  to  pause. 

To  press  the  important  question  on  his  heart, 

''Why  form'd  at  aU,  and  wherefore  as  thou  art?" 

If  man  be  what  he  seems,  this  hour  a  slave. 

The  next  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave ; 

Endued  with  reason  only  to  descry- 

His  crimes  and  follies  with  an  aching  eye ;  62 

AVith  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain, 

Tlie  force  he  spends  against  their  fury  vain ; 

And  if,  soon  after  having  burnt,  by  turns. 

With  every  lust  with  which  frail  STature  burns. 

His  being  end  where  death  dissolves  the  bond. 

The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond ; 

Tlien  he,  of  all  that  ISTature  has  brought  forth. 

Stands  self-impeach'd  the  creature  of  least  worth, 

And,  useless  while  he  lives,  and  when  he  dies, 

Brings  into  doubt  the  Avisdom  of  the  skies. 

Truths  that  the  learn'd  pursue  Avith  eager  thought    73 
Are  not  important  always  as  dear-bought. 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompous  strains, 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophic  pains ; 
But  truths  on  which  depends  our  main  concern, 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  misery  not  to  learn, 
Shine  by  the  side  of  every  path  we  tread 
AVith  such  a  lustre,  he  that  runs  may  read. 
'Tis  true  that,  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day. 
Then  perish  on  futurity's  wide  shore 
Like  fleeting  exhalations,  found  no  more,  84 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.        301 

Were  all  that  Heaven  required  of  humankind, 
And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  designed, 
What  none  could  reverence  all  might  justly  blame. 
And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 
But  Reason  heard,  and  Nature  well  perused. 
At  once  the  dreaming  mind  is  disabused. 
If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air, 
Eetiect  His  attributes  who  placed  them  there^ 
Fulfil  the  purpose,  and  appear  designed 
Proofs  of  the  wisdom  of  the  all-seeing  Mind,  94 

'Tis  plain  the  creature  whom  he  chose  to  invest 
With  kingship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest. 
Received  his  nobler  nature,  and  was  made 
Fit  for  the  power  in  which  he  stands  array'd; 
That  first  or  last,  hereafter  if  not  here. 
He  too  might  make  his  Author's  wisdom  clear, 
Praise  him  on  earth,  or,  obstinately  dumb, 
Sufi[:er  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 
This  once  believed,  'twere  logic  misapplied 
To  prove  a  consequence  by  none  denied. 
That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youth  105 

Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heavenly  truth. 
That,  taught  of  God,  they  may  indeed  be*  wise, 
Nor,  ignorantly  wandering,  miss  the  skies. 
In  early  days  the  conscience  has  in  most 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  life  is  lost: 
Preserved  from  guilt  by  salutary  fears. 
Or,  guilty,  soon  relenting  into  tears. 
Too  careless  often,  as  our  years  proceed. 
What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read, 
Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care 
To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare;  116 

And  wisely  store  the  nursery  by  degrees 
With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquired  with  ease. 
Neatly  secured  from  being  soil'd  or  torn. 
Beneath  a  pane  of  thin  translucent  horn, 
A  book  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age 
'Tis  call'd  a  book,  though  but  a  single  page) 
Presents  the  prayer  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  teach, 
Which  children  use,  and  parsons — when  they  preach. 
Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next 
Through  moral  narrative,  or  sacred  te^t; 
And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began,  127 

26 


302  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Who  made,  who  marr'd,  and  who  has  ransom'd  mans 
Points  which,  unless  the  Scripture  made  them  plain, 
The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vain. 

O  thou,  whom,  borne  on  Fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 
I  pleased  remember,  and,  while  memory  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget ; 
Ingenious  dreamer!  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  tiction  and  sw^eet  truth  alike  prevail; 
Whose  humors  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  style,    137 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile ; 
Witty,  and  well  employ'd,  and  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  Word ! 
I  name  thee  not,  lest  so  despised  a  name 
Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame; 
Yet  even  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 
Tliat  mingles  all  my  brown  w' ith  sober  gray. 
Revere  the  man,  whose  Pilgpjm  marks  the  road, 
^.^^nd  guides  the  Progeess  of  the  soul  to  God. 

'Twere  well  with  most,  if  books  that  could  engage 
Their  childhood,  pleased  them  at  a  riper  age;  14S 

The  man,  approving  what  had  charm'd  the  boy, 
W^ould  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy, 
And  not  with  curses  on  his  art  who  stole 
The  gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  soul. 
The  stamp  of  artless  piety,  impress'd 
By  kind  tuition  on  his  yielding  breast. 
The  youth  now  bearded,  and  yet  pert  and  raw, 
Regards  Avith  scorn,  though  once  received  with  awe ; 
And,  warp'd  into  the  labyrinth  of  lies 
That  babblers,  call'd  philosophers,  devise. 
Blasphemes  his  creed,  as  founded  on  a  plan  159 

Replete  with  dreams,  unworthy  of  a  man. 
Touch  but  his  nature  in  its  ailing  part. 
Assert  the  native  evil  of  his  heart. 
His  pride  resents  the  charge,  although  the  proof* 
Rise  in  his  forehead,  and  seem  rank  enough : 
Point  to  the  cure,  describe  a  Saviour's  cross 
As  God's  expedient  to  retrieve  his  loss — 
The  young  apostate  sickens  at  the  view, 
And  hates  it  with  the  malice  of  a  Jew. 

How  weak  tlie  barrier  of  mere  I^ature  proves, 
1  See  2  Chron.  xxvi.  19. 


tirocinium;    OR,  A    REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  303 

Opposed  against  the  pleasures  Nature  loves ! 

While  self-hetray'd,  and  wilfully  undone, 

She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  Avoo'd  than  won. 

Try  now  the  merits  of  this  blest  exchange 

Of  modest  truth  for  wit's  eccentric  range. 

Time  was  he  closed  as  he  began  the  day, 

With  decent  duty,  not  ashamed  to  pray ; 

The  practice  was  a  bond  upon  his  heart, 

A  pledge  he  gave  for  a  consistent  part ; 

Nor  could  he  dare  presumptuously  displease  179 

A  power  confess'd  so  lately  on  his  knees. 

But  now,  farewell  all  legendary  tales ! 

The  shadows  fly,  philosophy  prevails ; 

Prayer  to  the  winds,  and  caution  to  the  waves; 

Religion  makes  the  free  by  nature  slaves. 

Priests  have  invented,  and  the  Avorld  admired, 

AYhat  knavish  priests  promulgate  as  inspired; 

Till  Reason,  now  no  longer  overawed. 

Resumes  her  powers,  and  spurns  the  clumsy  fraud ; 

And,  common  sense  diffusing  real  day, 

The  meteor  of  the  Gospel  dies  away.  190 

Such  rhapsodies  our  shrewd  discerning  youth 

Learn  from  expert  inquirers  after  truth ; 

W^hose  only  care,  might  truth  presume  to  speak 

Is  not  to  find  what  they  profess  to  seek. 

And  thus,  well  tutor'd  only  while  we  share 

A  mother's  lectures  and  a  nurse's  care ; 

And  taught  at  schools  much  mythologic  stuff,^ 

But  sound  religion  sparingly  enough ; 

Our  early  notices  of  truth,  disgraced. 

Soon  lose  their  credit,  and  are  all  effaced. 

W^:)uld  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunce,         201 
Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once ; 
That  in  good  time  the  stripling's  finish'd  taste 
For  loose  expense  and  fashionable  waste 
Should  prove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last; 
Train  him  in  public  with  a  mob  of  boys, 
Childish  in  mischief  onjy  and  in  noise, 

The  author  begs  leave  to  exi)l{iin.  Sensible  that,  without  such  knowl- 
e,  neither  the  ancient  poets  nor  historians  can  be  tastefl,  or  indeed  un- 
•stood,  he  does  not  mean  to  censure  the  pains  tliat  are  taken  to  instruct  a 
>olboy  in  the  religion  of  the  hoiithen,  but  merely  that  neglect  of  Cliristiau 
lure  which  leaves  him  shamefully  ignorant  of  his  own. 


304  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and,  live  in  ten, 
In  infidelity  and  lewdness,  men. 
There  sliall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 
That  anthors  are  most  useful,  pawn'd  or  sold; 
That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 
But  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart; 
There,  waiter  Dick,  with  bacchanalian  lays, 
(Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise, 
His  counsellor  and  bosom-friend  shall  prove. 
And  some  street-pacing  harlot  his  first  love.  217 

Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  strong. 
Detain  their  adolescent  charge  too  long. 
The  management  of  tyros  of  eighteen 
Is  diflicult,  their  punishment  obscene. 
The  stout  tall  captain,  whose  superior  size 
The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes, 
Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fix 
Their  whole  attention,  and  ape  all  his  tricks. 
His  pride,  that  scorns  to  obey  or  to  submit, 
"With  them  is  courage,  his  effrontery  wit. 
His  wild  excursions,  window-breaking  feats,  228 

Robbery  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets, 
His  hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes, 
Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  favorite  themes. 
In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 
A  kindred  spark ;  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 
Thus,  half  accom])lisli'd  ere  he  yet  begin 
To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  cliin, 
And,  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on. 
Made  just  the  adept  that  you  design'd  your  son; 
To  insure  the  perseverance  of  his  course, 
■  And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force,  239 

Send  him  to  college.     If  he  there  be  tamed, 
Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaim'd, 
"Where  no  regard  of  ordinances  is  shown 
Or  look'd  for  now,  the  fault  must  be  his  own. 
Some  sneaking  virtue  lurks  in  him,  no  doubt, 
"Where  neither  strumpets'  charms,  nor  drinking  bout. 
Nor  gambling  practices,  can  find  it  out. 
Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too. 
Ye  nurseries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you : 
Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proceeds  ; 
For  public  schools  'tis  public  folly  feeds.  250 


tirocinium;  ok,  a  review  of  schools.       305 

The  slaves  of  custom  and  establisli'd  mode, 

AVitli  packhorse  constancy  we  keep  the  road, 

Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  dells, 

True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells. 

To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink 

With  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think : 

And  such  an  age  as  ours  balks  no  expense, 

Except  of  caution  and  of  common  sense; 

Else  sure  notorious  fact,  and  proof  so  plain, 

Would  turn  our  steps  into  a  wiser  train.  260 

I  blame  not  those  w^ho,  with  w"hat  care  they  can, 

O'erwatch  the  numerous  and  unruly  clan ; 

Or,  if  I  blame,  'tis  only  that  they  dare 

Promise  a  work  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole, 

An  ubiquarian  presence  ajid  control — 

Elisha's  eye,  that,  when  Gehazi  stray'd, 

W^ent  with  him,  and  saw  all  the  game  he  play'd? 

Yes — ye  are  conscious ;  and  on  all  the  shelves 

Your  pupils  strike  upon,  have  struck  yourselves. 

Or  if,  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then,  271 

Boys  as  ye  were,  the  gravity  of  men. 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofs  address'd 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  of  the  rest. 

But  ye  connive  at  w^hat  ye  cannot  cure, 

And  evils  not  to  be  endured,  endure ; 

Lest  power  exerted,  but  without  success, 

Should  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Ye  once  were  justly  famed  for  bringing  forjji' 

Undoubted  scholarship  and  genuine  w^orth'; 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  glory,  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs,  282 

Of  poets  raised  by  you,  and  statesmen  and  divines. 

Peace  to  them  all !  those  brilliant  times  are  lied. 

And  no  such  lights  are  kindling  in  their  stead. 

Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  but  with  such  rays 

As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  a  blaze; 

xVnd  seem,  if  judged  by  their  expressive  looks, 

Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 

Say,  Muse  (for  education  made  the  song, 
Ko  Muse  can  hesitate  or  linger  long), 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing,  as  w^e  must, 
Jhat  these  menageries  all  fail  their  trust,  293 


I 


306  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there, 
"While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care  ? 

Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
"We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days ; 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill, 
The  very  name  we  carved  subsisting  still ; 
The  bench  on  Avhich  we  sat  wdiile  deep  employ'd, 
Tho'  mangled,  hack'd,  and  hew'd,  not  yet  destroy 'd ;    303 
The  little  ones,  unbutton'd,  glowing  hot. 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot ; 
As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw; 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat. 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dexterous  pat ; 
The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 
Such  recollection  of  our  own  deliglits, 
That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  to  obtain 
Our  innocent,  sAveet,  simple  years  again. 
This  fond  attachment  to  the  w^eil-known  place,  314 

Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race, 
Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 
We  feel  it  even  in  age,  and  at  our  latest  day. 
Hark !  how  the  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  share 
Of  classic  food  begins  to  be  his  care, 
With  his  owm  likeness  placed  on  either  knee, 
Indulges  all  a  father's  heartfelt  glee ; 
And  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks, 
That  they  must  soon  learn  Latin,  and  to  box ; 
Then  turning,  he  regales  his  listening  wife 
With  all  the  adventures  of  his  early  life ;  325 

His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise, 
In  bilking  tavern-bills,  and  spouting  plays ; 
What  shifts  he  used,  detected  in  a  scrape. 
How  he  was  flogg'd,  or  had  the  luck  to  escape; 
What  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  he  sold 
Watch,  seals,  and  all — till  all  his  pranks  are  told. 
Ketracing  thus  Ins  frolics  ('tis  a  name 
That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame), 
He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway ; 
Resolves  that  where  he  play'd  his  sons  shall  play, 
And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  shown,  33G 


TIROCINIUM^    OR,  A    REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  307 

Just  in  the  scene  wliere  lie  clisx)lay'd  his  own. 
The  meek  and  basliful  boy  will  soon  be  taught 
To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 
The  rude  will  scuffle  through  with  ease  enough — 
Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 
Ah,  happy  designation,  prudent  choice, 
The  event  is  sure ;  expect  it,  and  rejoice  ! 
Soon  see  your  wish  fulfill'd  in  either  child. 
The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tame  made  wild. 

The  great,  indeed,  by  titles,  riches,  birth,  346 

Excused  the  encumbrance  of  more  solid  worth, 
Are  best  disposed  of  where  with  most  success 
Tliey  may  acquire  that  confident  address. 
Those  habits  of  profuse  and  lewd  expense, 
That  scorn  of  all  delights  but  those  of  aense ; 
Which,  though  in  plain  plebeians  we  condemn, 
With  so  much  reason  all  expect  from  them. 
But  families  of  less  illustrious  fame. 
Whose  chief  distinction  is  their  spotless  name. 
Whose  heirs,  their  honors  none,  their  income  small, 
Must  shine  by  true  desert,  or  not  at  all —  357 

Wliat  dream  they  of,  that  with  so  little  care 
They  risk  their  hopes,  their  dearest  treasure,  there  ? 
They  dream  of  little  Charles  or  William  graced 
With  wig  prolix,  down  flowing  to  his  waist ; 
They  see  the  attentive  crowds  his  talents  draw, 
They  hear  him  speak — the  oracle  of  law. 
The  father,  who  designs  his  babe  a  priest, 
Dreams  him  episcopally  such  at  least ; 
And,  while  the  playful  jockey  scours  the  room, 
Briskly,  astride  upon  the  parlor  broom, 
.  In  fancy  sees  him  more  superbly  ride  368 

In  coach  with  purple  lined,  and  mitres  on  its  side. 
Events  improbable  and  strange  as  these. 
Which  only  a  parental  eye  foresees, 
A  public  school  shall  bring  to  pass  with  ease. 
But  how?  resides  such  virtue  in  that  air 
As  must  create  an  appetite  for  prayer  ? 
And  will  it  breathe  into  him  all  the  zeal 
That  candidates  for  such  a  prize  should  feel — 
To  take  the  lead  and  be  the  foremost  still 
In  all  true  worth  and  literary  skill  ? 
"Ah,  blind  to  bright  futurity,  untaught  379 


t308  cowrER's  poetical  works. 

The  knowledge  of  the  World,  and  dull  of  thought! 
Church -ladders  are  not  alwa^'s  mounted  best 
By  learned  clerks,  and  Latinists  proless'd. 
The  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look, 
Not  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 
Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek, 
Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 
Let  erudition  grace  him,  or  not  grace, 
I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place; 
His  wealth,  fame,  honors,  all  that  I  intend,  880 

Subsist  and  centre  in  one  point — a  friend. 
A  friend,  whatever  he  studies  or'neglects. 
Shall  give  him  consequence,  heal  all  defects. 
His  intercourse  with  peers,  and  sons  of  peers, — 
There  dawns  the  splendor  of  his  future  years : 
In  that  bright  quarter  his  propitious  skies 
Shall  blush  betimes,  and  there  his  glory  rise. 
Your  Lordship,  and  Your  Grace !  what  school  can  teach 
A  rhetoric  equal  to  those  parts  of  speech  ? 
What  need  of  Homer's  verse  or  Tully's  prose. 
Sweet  interjections !  if  he  learn  but  those  ?  400 

Let  reverend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke, 
Who  starve  upon  a  dog's-ear'd  Pentateuch, 
The  parson  knows  enough  who  knoAVs  a  duke." — 
Egregious  purpose !  worthily  begun 
In  barbarous  prostitution  of  your  son ; 
Press'd  on  Ms  part  by  means  that  would  disgrace 
A  scrivener's  clerk,  or  footman  out  of  place. 
And  ending,  if  at  last  its  end  be  gain'd. 
In  sacrilege,  in  God's  own  house  profaned. 
It  may  succeed ;  and  if  his  sins  should  call 
For  more  than  common  punishment,  it  shall.  411 

The  wretch  shall  rise,  and  be  the  thing  on  earth 
Least  qualified  in  honor,  learning,  worth. 
To  occupy  a  sacred,  awful  post. 
In  which  the  best  and  worthiest  tremble  most. 
The  royal  letters  are  a  thing  of  course, 
A  king,  that  would,  might  recommend  his  horse ; 
And  Deans,  no  doubt,  and  Chapters,  with  one  voice, 
As  bound,  in  duty,  would  confirm  the  choice. 
Behold  your  Bishop !  well  he  plays  his  part, 
Christian  in  name,  and  Infidel  in  heart, 
■  Ghostly  in  office,  earthly  in  his  plan,  422 


TIROCINIUM  ;    OR,   A    REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  309 

A  slave  at  court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man : 

Dumb  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 

A  piece  of  mere  church  furniture  at  best ; 

To  live  estranged  from  God  his  total  scope. 

And  his  end  sure,  without  one  glimpse  of  hope. 

But,  fair  although  and  feasible  it  seem. 

Depend  not  much  upon  joviv  golden  dream  ; 

For  Providence,  that  seems  concern'd  to  exempt 

The  hallow'd  bench  from  absolute  contempt, 

In  S4)ite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place,  432 

Still  keeps  a  seat  or  two  for  worth  and  grace ; 

And  therefore  'tis,  that,  though  the  sight  bo  rare, 

We  sometimes  see  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there. 

Besides,  school  friendships  are  not  always  found, 

Though  fair  in  promise,  permanent  and  sound ; 

The  most  disinterested  and  virtuous  minds, 

In  early  years  connected,  time  unbinds ; 

'New  situations  give  a  different  cast 

Of  habit,  inclination,  temper,  taste ; 

And  he  that  seem'd  our  counterpart  at  first, 

Soon  shows  the  strong  similitude  reversed,  443 

Young  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  are  warm, 

And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform. 

Boys  are,  at  best,  but  pretty  buds  unblown, 

Whose  scent  and  hues  are  rather  guess'd  than  known. 

Each  dreams  that  each  is  just  what  he  appears. 

But  learns  his  error  in  maturer  years, 

When  disposition,  like  a  sail  unfarl'd. 

Shows  all  its  rents  and  patches  to  the  world. 

If,  therefore,  even  when  honest  in  design, 

A  boyish  friendship  may  so  soon  decline, 

'Twere  wiser  sure  to  inspire  a  little  heart  454 

With  just  abhorrence  of  so  mean  a  part. 

Than  set  your  son  to  work  at  a  vile  trade 

For  wages  so  unlikely  to  be  paid. 

Our  public  hives  of  puerile  resort. 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approved  report, 
To  such  base  hopes,  in  many  a  sordid  soul. 
Owe  their  repute  in  part,  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestion'd,  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass — 
That  with  a  world,  not  often  over-nice, 
Banks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  vet  a  vice ;  465 


310  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried, 

Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride — 

Contributes  most,  perhaps,  to  enhance  their  fame ; 

And  Emulation  is  its  specious  name. 

Boys,  once  on  fire  with  that  contentious  zeal, 

Feel  all  the  rage  that  female  rivals  feel ; 

The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 

]^ot  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize. 

The  spirit  of  that  competition  burns 

With  all  varieties  of  ill  by  turns  ;  475 

Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success. 

Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less, 

Exults  in  his  miscarriage  if  he  fail. 

Deems  his  reward  too  great  if  he  prevail, 

And  labors  to  surpass  him  day  and  night. 

Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 

The  spur  is  powerful,  and  I  grant  its  force ; 

It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course. 

Allows  short  time  for  play,  and  none  for  sloth ; 

And,  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both : 

But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes,  486 

The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 

Weigh,  for  a  moment,  classical  desert 

Against  a  heart  depraved  and  temper  linrt; 

Hurt  too,  perhaps,  for  life ;  for  early  wrong 

Done  to  the  nobler  part  affects  it  long ; 

And  you  are  staunch  indeed  in  learning's  cause. 

If  you  can  crown  a  discipline,  that  draws 

Such  mischiefs  after  it,  with  much  applause. 

Connection  form'd  for  interest,  and  endear'd 
By  selfish  views,  thus  censured  and  cashier'd ; 
And  Emulation,  as  engendering  hate,  497 

Doom'd  to  a  no  less  ignominious  fate ; 
The  props  of  such  proud  seminaries  fall. 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz^  of  them  all. 
Great  schools  rejected  then,  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  managed  well. 
Shall  royal  institutions  miss  the  bays. 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise  ? 
Force  not  my  drift  beyond  its  just  intent, 
I  praise  a  school,  as  Pope  a  government ; 
So  take  my  judgment  in  his  language  dress'd — • 
1  The  two  brazen  pillars  in  Solomon's  Temple. 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.       311 

"  Whate'er  is  best  admitiister'd,  is  best." 

Few  boys  are  born  with  talents  that  excel, 

But  all  are  capable  of  living  well ; 

Then  ask  not  whether  limited  or  large, 

But,  watch  they  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge  ? 

If  anxious  only  that  their  bo3\s  may  learn, 

While  morals  languish,  a  despised  concern ; 

The  great  and  small  deserve  one  common  blame. 

Different  in  size,  but  in  effect  the  same. 

Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast,  517 

Tliough  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most ; 

Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound. 

For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  found; 

Though  there,  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  do. 

Traps  to  catch  youth  are  most  abundant  too. 

If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well-constructed  brain. 

Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vigorous  to  retain. 

Your  son  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill, 

As,  wheresoever  taught,  so  formed,  he  will; 

The  pedagogue,  with  self-complacent  air. 

Claims  more  than  lialf  the  praise  as  his  due  share.      528 

But  if,  with  all  his  genius,  he  betray, 

Kot  more  intelhgent  than  loose  and  gay. 

Such  vicious  habits  as  disgrace  his  name. 

Threaten  his  health,  his  fortune,  and  his  fame; 

Though  want  of  due  restraint  alone  have  bred 

The  symptoms  that  you  see  with  so  much  dread ; 

Unenvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone 

The  whole  reproach,  the  fault  was  all  his  own. 

Oh !  'tis  a  sight  to  be  with  joy  perused, 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abused ; 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace  539 

Of  those  who  never  feel  in  the  riglit  place; 
A  sight  surpass'd  by  none  that  we  can  show, 
Though  Vestris  on  one  leg  still  shine  below; 
A  father  blest  with  an  ingenuous  son. 
Father,  and  friend,  and  tutor,  all  in  one. 
How ! — turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot, 
zEsop,  and  Phaedrus,  and  tlie  rest  ? — Why  not  ? 
He  will  not  blush,  that  has  a  father's  heart. 
To  take  in  childisli  plays  a  childish  part; 
But  bends  his  sturdy  back  to  any  toy 
That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  please  his  boy ;  550 


312  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Then  why  resign  into  a  stranger's  hand 

A  task  as  much  within  your  own  command — 

That  God  and  Nature,  and  your  interest  too, 

Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you? 

AVhy  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown,  [own? 

For  one  whose  tenderest  thoughts  all  hover  round  your 

This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is. 

How  does  it  lacerate  both  your  heart  and  his ! 

The  indented  stick,  that  loses  day  by  day 

[N'otch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smooth'd  away,  560 

Bears  witness,  long  ere  his  dismission  come, 

"With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 

But  though  the  joys  he  liopes  beneath  your  roof 

Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  the  proof. 

Harmless,  and  safe,  and  natural,  as  they  are, 

A  disappointment  waits  him  even  there: 

Arrived,  he  feels  an  unexpected  change; 

He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange, 

"No  longer  takes,  as  once,  with  fearless  ease. 

His  favorite  stand  between  his  father's  knees, 

But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat, 

And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat ,  572 

And,  least  familiar  where  he  should  be  most, 

Feels  all  his  happiest  privileges  lost. 

Alas!  poor  boy! — the  natural  effect 

Of  love  by  absence  chilPd  into  respect! 

Say,  what  accomplishments,  at  school  acquired, 

Brings  he,  to  sweeten  fruits  so  undesired? 

Thou  well  deservest  an  alienated  son. 

Unless  thy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none ; 

None  that,  in  thy  domestic  snug  recess, 

lie  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address ;  582 

Though  some,  perhaps,  that  shock  thy  feehng  mind, 

And  better  never  learn'd,  or  left  behind. 

Add  too,  that,  thus  estranged,  thou  canst  obtain 

By  no  kind  arts  his  confidence  again ; 

That  here  begins  with  most  that  long  complaint 

Of  filial  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint. 

Which,  oft  neglected,  in  life's  waning  years, 

A  parent  pours  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars,  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
"Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace  593 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.       313 

The  boughs  in  whicli  are  bred  the  unseemly  race — 
While  every  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  rivelPd  leaves ; 
So  numerous  are  the  follies  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  every  sprightly  boy ; 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse, 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
The  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand. 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  higli  command. 
To  check  tlie  procreation  of  a  breed,  603 

Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 
'Tis  not  enough  that  Greek  or  Roman  page, 
At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage  ; 
Even  in  his  pastmies  he  requires  a  friend,  ^^ 

To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend  ; 
O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside. 
Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  tlieir  tide; 
And,  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 
A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 
To  impress  a  value,  not  to  be  erased, 
On  moments  squander'd  else,  and  running  all  to  waste. 
And  seems  it  nothing  in  a  father's  eye,  G15 

That  unimproved  those  many  moments  fly  I 
And  is  he  well  content  his  son  should  find 
No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind. 
But  conjugated  verbs,  and  nouns  declined'^ 
For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purvey'd 
By  public  hackneys  in  the  schooling  trade ; 
Who  feed  a  pupil's  intellect  with  store 
Of  syntax  truly,  but  with  little  more ; 
Dismiss  their  cares  when  they  dismiss  their  flock, 
Machines  themselves,  and  govern'd  by  a  clock.  625 

Perhaps  a  father,  blest  with  any  brains. 
Would  deem  it  no  abuse  or  waste  of  pains. 
To  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  exj)ense. 
With  savory  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense; 
To  lead  his  son,  for  prospects  of  delight. 
To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophic,  height; 
Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wondering  eyes 
Yon  circling  worlds,  their  distance,  and  their  size, 
The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 
And  the  harmonious  order  of  them  all ; 
To  show  him,  in  an  insect  or  a  tiower,  636 

27 


S14  COWPEIl's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Sucli  microscopic  proof  of  skill  and  power, 
>^  As,  hid  from  ages  past,  God  now  displays. 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modern  days ; 

To  spread  the  earth  before  him,  and  commend, 

"With  designation  of  the  finger's  end, 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note, 

Thus  bringing  home  to  him  the  most  remote ; 

To  teach  his  heart  to  glow  with  generous  flame, 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame ; 

And,  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due,  646 

To  set  some  living  worthy  in  his  view, 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  must  admire. 

Such  knowledge,  gain'd  betimes,  and  which  appears, 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years. 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport. 

When  health  demands  it,  of  athletic  sort. 

Would  make  him — what  some  lovely  boys  have  been. 

And  more  than  one  perhaps  that  I  have  seen — 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both. 

Of  the  mere  schoolboy's  lean  and  tardy  growth.  657 

Art  thou  a  man  professionally  tied, 

With  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied. 

Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care 

Than  how  to  enrich  thyself,  and  next  thine  heir? 

Or  art  thou  (as,  though  rich,  peril aps  thou  art) 

But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  to  impart? — 

Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  clad, 
.    His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad ; 

Not  of  a  nimble  tongue,  though  now  and  then 

Heard  to  articulate  like  other  men ; 

l!To  jester,  and  yet  lively  in  discourse —  668 

His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  of  force; 

And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease, 

Not  English  stifi^,  but  frank,  and  form'd  to  \Aesise ; 

Low  in  the  world,  because  he  scorns  its  arts, 

A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  parts ; 

Unpatronized,  and  therefore  little  known ; 

Wise  for  himself  and  his  few  friends  alone, — 

In  him  thy  well-appointed  proxy  see, 

Arm'd  for  a  work  too  diflScult  for  thee ; 

Prepared  by  taste,  by  learning,  and  true  worth, 

To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  fortli ;  679 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.        315 

Beneath  thy  roof,  beneath  thine  eye,  to  prove 

The  force  of  disciphne  when  back'd  by  love  ; 

To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  cliild, 

His  mind  inform'd,  his  morals  undefiled. 

Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 

No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below, 

Kor  train  his  speech  with  meannesses,  designed 

By  footman  Tom  for  witty  and  refined. 

There,  in  his  commerce  witli  the" liveried  herd, 

Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  fearVl ;  680 

For  since  (so  fashion  dictates)  all  who  claim 

A  higher  than  a  mere  plebeian  fame. 

Find  it  expedient,  come  what  mischief  may, 

To  entertain  a  thief  or  two  in  pay 

(And  they  tliat  can  aiford  the  expense  of  more, 

Some  half  a  dozen,  and  some  half  a  score). 

Great  cause  occurs  to  save  him  from  a  band 

So  sure  to  spoil  him,  and  so  near  at  hand ; 

A  point  secured,  if  once  he  be  supplied 

With  some  such  Mentor  always  at  his  side. 

Are  such  men  rare  ?  perhaps  they  would  abound,       700 

Were  occupation  easier  to  be  found. 

Were-  education,  else  so  sure  to  fail. 

Conducted  on  a  manageable  scale. 

And  schools,  that  have  outlived  all  just  esteem, 

Exchanged  for  the  secure  domestic  scheme. — 

But,  having  found  him,  be  thou  duke  or  earl. 

Show  thou  hast  sense  enough  to  prize  the  pearl ; 

And,  as  thou  wouldst  the  advancement  of  thine  heir 

In  all  good  faculties  beneath  his  care. 

Respect,  as  is  but  rational  and  just, 

A  man  deem'd  worthy  of  so  dear  a  trust.  711 

Despised  by  thee,  what  more  can  he  expect 

From  youthful  folly,  than  the  same  neglect  ? 

A  flat  and  fatal  negative  obtains. 

That  instant,  upon  all  his  future  pains ; 

His  lessons  tire,  his  mild  rebukes  oflfend. 

And  all  the  instructions  of  thy  son's  best  friend 

Are  a  stream  choked,  or  trickling  to  no  end. 

Doom  him  not  then  to  solitary  meals, 

But  recollect  that  he  has  sense,  and  feels ; 

And  that,  possessor  of  a  soul  refined. 

An  upright  heart,  and  cultivated  mind,  722 


316  cowper's  poetical  works. 

His  post  not  mean,  his  talents  not  nnknown, 

He  deems  it  hard  to  vegetate  alone. 

And,  if  admitted  at  thy  board  he  sit, 

Account  him  no  just  mark  for  idle  wit: 

Offend  not  him,  whom  modesty  restrains 

From  repartee,  with  jokes  that  he  disdains ; 

Much  less  transfix  his  feelings  with  an  oath, 

Nor  frown,  unless  he  vanish  with  the  cloth. — 

And,  trust  me,  his  utility  may  reach 

To  more  than  he  is  hired  or  hound  to  teach ;  Y32 

Much  trash  unutter'd,  and  some  ills  undone. 

Through  reverence  of  the  censor  of  thy  son. 

But,  if  thy  table  be  indeed  unclean, 
Foul  Avith  excess,  and  with  discourse  obscene. 
And  thou  a  wretch,  whom,  following  her  old  plan, 
The  world  accounts  an  honorable  man. 
Because,  forsooth,  thy  courage  has  been  tried. 
And  stood  the  test,  perhaps  on  the  wrong  side ; 
Though  thou  hadst  never  grace  enough  to  prove 
That  any  thing  but  vice  could  win  thy  love ; — 
Or  hast  thou  a  polite,  card-playing  wife,  743 

ChainVl  to  the  routs  that  she  frequents,  for  life, 
"Who,  just  when  industry  begins  to  snore, 
Fhes,  wing'd  Avith  joy,  to  some  coach-crowded  door ; 
And  thrice  in  every  winter  throngs  thine  own 
With  half  the  chariots  and  sedans  in  town — 
Thyself  meanwhile  even  shifting  as  thou  mayst, 
[N'ot  very  sober,  though,  nor  very  chaste  ;— 
Or  is  thine  house,  though  less  superb  thy  rank, 
If  not  a  scene  of  pleasure,  a  mere  blank, 
And  thou  at  best,  and  in  thy  soberest  mood, 
A  trifler  vain,  and  empty  of  all  good  ; —  T54 

Though  mercy  for  thyself  thou  canst  have  none, 
Hear  Nature  plead,  show  mercy  to  thy  son ! 
Saved  from  his  home,  where  every  day  brings  forth 
Some  mischief  fatal  to  his  future  w^orth. 
Find  him  a  better  in  a  distant  spot. 
Within  some  pious  pastor's  humble  cot, 
Where  vile  example  (yours  I  chiefly  mean, 
The  most  seducing,  and  the  oftenest  seen) 
May  never  more  be  stamp'd  upon  his  breast, 
Not  yet  perhaps  incurably  impressed. 
Where  early  rest  makes  early  rising  sure,  765 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.       317 

Disease  or  comes  not,  or  finds  easy  cure, 

Prevented  much  by  diet  neat  and  plain  ; 

Or,  if  it  enter,  soon  starved  out  again : 

Where  all  the  attention  of  his  faithful  host, 

Discreetly  limited  to  two  at  mos1», 

May  raise  such  fruits  as  shall  reward  his  care, 

And  not  at  last  evaporate  in  air: 

Where,  stillness  aiding  study,  and  liis  mind 

Serene,  and  to  his  duties  much  inclined, 

IlTot  occupied  in  day-dreams,  as  at  home,  775 

Of  pleasures  past,  or  follies  yet  to  come; 

His  virtuous  toil  may  terminate  at  last 

In  settled  habit  and  decided  taste. — 

But  whom  do  I  advise  ?  the  fashion-led, 

The  incorrigibly  wrong,  the  deaf,  the  dead ! 

Whom  care  and  cool  deliberation  suit 

!N"ot  better  much  than  spectacles  a  brute ; 

Who,  if  their  sons  some  slight  tuition  share. 

Deem  it  of  no  great  moment  whose,  or  where ; 

Too  proud  to  adopt  the  thoughts  of  one  unknown, 

And  much  too  gay  to  have  any  of  their  own.  786 

But  courage,  man !  methonght  the  Muse  replied, 

Mankind  are  various,  and  the  world  is  wide : 

The  ostrich,  silliest  of  the  feathered  kind. 

And  form'd  of  God  without  a  parent's  mind, 

Commits  her  eggs,  incautious,  to  the  dust. 

Forgetful  that  the  foot  may  crush  the  trust; 

And,  while  on  public  nurseries  they  rely, 

ITot  knowfhg,  and  too  oft  not  caring,  why, 

Irrational  in  w>iat  they  thus  prefer, 

No  few,  that  would  seem  wise,  resemble  her. 

But  all  are  not  alike.     Thy  warning  voice  797 

May  here  and  there  prevent  erroneous  choice  ; 

And  some,  perhaps,  who,  busy  as  they  arie, 

Yet  make  tlieir  progeny  their  dearest  care 

(Whose  hearts  will  ache,  once  told  what  ills  may  reach 

Their  offspring,  left  upon  so  wild  a  beach). 

Will  need  no  stress  of  argument  to  enforce 

The  expedience  qf  a  less  adventurous  course : 

The  rest  will  shght  thy  counsel,  or  condemn; 

But  they  have  human  feelings — turn  to  them. 

To  you  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state,      ♦ 
Securely  placed^between  the  small  and  great,  808 


318  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Whose  character,  yet  undebanchM,  retains 

Two-thhxls  of  all  the  virtue  that  remains — 

"Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  sons  should  learn 

Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  I  turn. 

Look  round  you  on  a  world  perversely  blind, — 

See  what  contempt  is  fallen  on  human  kind, — 

See  wealth  abused,  and  dignities  misplaced, 

Great  titles,  offices,  and  trusts  disgraced. 

Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renown'd  of  old, 

Their  noble  qualities  all  quench'd  and  cold  :  818 

See  Bedlam's  closeted  and  handcuff 'd  charge 

Surpassed  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large; 

See  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade, 

Great  lawyers,  lawyers  without  study  made ; 

Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 

Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy. 

Who,  far  enough  from  furnishing  their  shelves 

With  Gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  themselves ; 

See  womanhood  despised,  and  manhood  shamed 

With  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  named ; 

Fops  at  all  corners,  ladylike  in  mien,  829 

Civeted  fellows,  smelt  ere  they  are  seen ; 

Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 

On  fire  with  curses,  and  with  nonsense  hung, 

Now  flush'd  with  drunkenness,  now  with  whoredom  pale, 

Their  breath  a  sample  of  last  night's  regale ; 

See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts. 

Men  well  endow'd,  of  honorable  parts, 

Design'd  by  ligature  wise,  but  self-made  fool^ ; 

All  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schools. 

And  if  it  chance,  as  sometimes  chance  it  will. 

That  though  school-bred,  the  boy  be  virtuous  still —  840 

Such  rare  exceptions,  shining  in  the  dark. 

Prove,  rather  than  impeach,  the  just  remark ; 

As  here  and  there  a  twinkling  star  descried 

Serves  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 

1^0 w  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice  in  tone 

Just  echoes  thine,  whose  features  are  thine  own, 

And  stroke  his  pohsh'd  cheek  of  purest  red. 

And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head. 

And  say.  My  boy,  the  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 

Whenihou,  transplanted  from  thy  genial  home, 

Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air,  851 


tirocinium;  or,  a  review  of  schools.       310 

And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care ; 

"What  character,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 

From  constant  converse  witli  I  know  not  whom ; 

"Wlio  there  will  court  thy  friendship,  with  what  views, 

And,  artless  as  thou  art,  whom  thou  wilt  choose ; 

Tliough  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be, — 

Is  all  chance-medley,  and  imknown  to  me. 

Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lids. 

And  while  the  dreadful  risk  foreseen  forbids. 

Free  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force,  861 

Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course, 

Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side. 

Merely  to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide? 

Thou  canst  not !     Nature,  pulling  at  thine  heart, 

Condenms  the  unfatherly,  the  imprudent  part. 

Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tenderest  plea, 

Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea. 

Nor  say,  Go  thither^  conscious  that  there  lay 

A  brood  of  asps,  or  quicksands  in  his  way  ; 

Then,  only  govern'd  by  the  self-same  rule 

Of  natural  pity,  send  him  not  to  school.  872 

No! — Guard  him  better:  is  he  not  thine  own. 

Thyself  in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 

And  hopest  thou  not  ('tis  every  father's  hope) 

That,  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  elope, 

And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort,  to  assuage 

Health's  last  farewell,  a  stall"  of  thine  old  age, 

Tliat  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares. 

Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  gray  hairs, 

Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  bereft. 

And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  left? 

Aware  then  how  much  danger  intervenes,  883 

To  compass  that  good  end,  forecast  the  means. 

His  heart,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command; 

Secure  it  thine :  its  key  is  in  thine  hand. 

If  thou  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide, 

Nor  heed  what  guests  there  enter  and  abide. 

Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base 

Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place. 

But,  if  tiiou  guard  its  sacred  chambers  sure 

From  vicious  inmates  and  delights  impure. 

Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast. 

And  keep  him  warm  and  filial  to  the  last;  894 


20  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

Or,  if  lie  prove  unkind  (as  who  can  say 
But,  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may?) 
One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 
Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

Oh,  barbarous !  wouldst  thou  with  a  Gothic  hand 
Pull  down  the  schools — what! — all  the  schools  i'  the  land; 
Or  throw  them  up  to  livery-nags  and  grooms. 
Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction-rooms  ? 
— A  captious  question,  sir  (and  yours  is  one), 
Deserves  an  answer  similar,  or  none.  904 

Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  flock,  employ 
(Apprised  that  he  is  such)  a  careless  boy. 
And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay, 
Merely  to  sleep,  and  let  tliem  run  astray  ? 
Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 
A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile. 
From  education,  as  the  leading,  cause, 
The  public  character  its  color  draws ; 
Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast, 
Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 
And  though  I  would  not  advertise  them  yet,  915 

•  I^Tor  Avrite  on  each — This  Building  to  de  Let^ 
Unless  the  world  were  all  prepared  to  embrace 
A  plan  well  worthy  to  supply  their  place ; 
Yet,  backward  as  they  are,  and  long  have  been, 
To  cultivate  and  keep  the  morals  clean, 
(Forgive  the  crime!)  I  wish  them,  I  confess. 
Or  better  managed,  or  encouraged  less. 


MINOR  POEMS. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  JOSEPH  HILL,  ESQ. 

Dear  Joseph, — Five-and-twenty  years  ago — 
Alas !  how  time  escapes ! — 'tis  even  so — 
With  frequent  intercourse,  and  always  sweet, 
And  always  friendly,  we  were  wont  to  cheat 
A  tedious  hour — and  now  we  never  meet ! 
As  some  grave  gentleman  in  Terence  says 
('Twas  therefore  much  the  same  in  ancient  days), 
Good  lack,  we  know  not  what  to-morrow  brings — 
Strange  fluctuation  of  all  human  things ! 
True.     Changes  will  befall,  and  friends  may  part, 
But  distance  only  cannot  change  the  heart: 
And,  were  I  call'd  to  prove  the  assertion  true. 
One  proof  should  serve — a  reference  to  you. 

Whence  comes  it  then,  that,  in  the  wane  of  life, 
Though  nothing  have  occurred  to  kindle  strife. 
We  find  the  friends  we  fancied  we  had  won. 
Though  numerous  once,  reduced  to  few  or  none  ? 
Can  gold  grow  worthless  that  has  stood  the  touch  ? 
'No :  gold  they  seem'd,  but  they  were  never  such. 

Horatio's  servant  once,  with  bow  and  cringe. 
Swinging  the  parlor  door  upon  its  hinge. 
Dreading  a  negative,  and  overawed 
Lest  he  should  trespass,  begg'd  to  go  abroad. 
Go,  fellow! — whither? — turning  short  about — 
Nay — stay  at  home — you're  always  going  out. 
'Tis  but  a  step,  sir,  just  at  the  street's  end. — 
For  what? — An'  please  you,  sir,  to  see  a  friend. — 
A  friend !  Horatio  cried,  and  seem'd  to  start — 
Yea,  marry  slialt  thou,  and  with  all  my  heart. 
And  fetch  my  cloak ;  for  though  the  night  be  raw, 
I'll  see  him  too — the  first  I  ever  saw. 


322  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  knew  the  man,  and  knew  liis  nature  mild, 
And  was  liis  plaything  often  when  a  child; 
But  someAvhat  at  that  moment  pinch'd  him  close, 
Else  he  was  seldom  bitter  or  morose : 
Perhaps,  his  confidence  just  then  betray'd. 
His  grief  might  prompt  him  with  the  speech  he  made* 
Perhaps  'twas  mere  good-humor  gave  it  birth, 
The  harmless  play  of  pleasantry  and  mirth. 
Howe'er  it  was,  his  language,  in  my  mind, 
Bespoke  at  least  a  man  that  knew  mankind. 
But  not  to  moralize  too  much,  and  strain 
To  prove  an  evil  of  which  all  complain 
(I  hate  long  arguments,  verbosely  spun). 
One  story  more,  dear  Hill,  and  I  have  done : 
Once  on  a  time,  an  emperor,  a  wise  man, 
No  matter  where,  in  China  or  Japan, 
Decreed  that  whosoever  should  offend 
Against  the  well-known  duties  of  a  fri-end, 
Convicted  once,  should  ever  after  wear 
I^ut  half  a  coat,  and  show  his  bosom  bare ; 
The  jnmishment  importing  this,  no  doubt. 
That  all  was  naught  within,  and  all  found  out. 

0  happy  Britain!  we  have  not  to  fear 
Such. hard  and  arbitrary  measure  here; 
Else,  could  a  law  like  that  which  I  relate 
Once  have  the  sanction  of  our  triple  state, 
Some  few,  that  I  have  known  in  days  of  old, 
Would  run  most  dreadful  risk  of  catching  cold ; 
While  you,  my  friend,  whatever  wind  should  blow, 
Might  traverse  England  safely  to  and  fro, 
.    An  honest  man,  close-button'd  to  the  chin, 
Broadcloth  vvithout,  and  a  warm  heart  within. 


TO  THE  REV.  WILLIAM  CAWTHORNE  UNWIK 

Uxwix,  I  should  but  ill  repay 

The  kindness  of  a  friend. 
Whose  worth  deserves  as  warm  a  lay 

As  ever  friendship  penn'd. 
Thy  name  omitted  in  a  page 
That  would  reclaim  a  vicious  asiQ. 


MINOR   rOEMS.  323 

A  union  form'd,  as  mine  'with  thee, 

Not  raslily,  or  in  sport, 
May  be  as  fervent  in  degree, 

And  faitliful  in  its  sort — 
And  may  as  rich  in  comfort  prove 
As  that  of  true  fraternal  love. 

The  bnd  inserted  in  the  rind. 

The  hud  of  peach  or  rose, 
Adorns,  though  differing  in  its  kind, 

The  stock  whereon  it  grows, 
With  flower  as  sweet,  or  fruit  as  fair, 
As  if  produced  by  ITature  there. 

Not  rich,  I  render  what  I  may ; 

I  seize  thy  name  in  haste. 
And  place  it  in  this  first  essaj'. 

Lest  this  should  prove  the  last. 
'Tis  Avliere  it  should  be — in  a  plan 
That  holds  in  view  the  good  of  man 

The  poet's  lyre,  to  fix  his  fame, 

Should  be  the  poet's  heart ; 
Affection  lights  a  brighter  flame 

Than  ever  blazed  by  art. 
ISTo  Muses  on  these  lines  attend, 
I  sink  the  poet  in  the  friend. 


THE  DIVERTING  HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GILPIN , 

ROWING    HOW    HE   WENT    FARTHER   THAN    HE   INTENDED,    AND    CAME 
SAFE    HOME    AGAIN. 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen. 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear,  / 
Though  wedded  we  have  been         Y 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 
No  holiday  have  seen. 


^ 


324      x/^       *:'o\vper's  poetical  works. 

'To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day, 

And  we  will  then  repair 
[Into  the  Bell  at  Edmonton, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child. 

Myself  and  children  three, 
AYill  fill  the  chaise ;  s(3  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we. 

He  soon  replied,  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one, 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  -dear;. 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

I  am  a  linen-draper  bold,,  i 

As  all  the  world  doth  know, .     A 

And  my  good  friend  the  Callender 

Will  lend  his  horse  to  go.     ,  ,      . 

Quoth  Mistress  Gilpin,  That's  well  said"; 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
"We  will  be  furnish'd  with  our  oVn, 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear. 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife ; 

O'erjoy'd  was  he  to  find 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought. 

But  yet  was  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all  '    "' 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud*^ 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stay'd^ 

Where  they  did  all  get  in  ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog       \ 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin,^ 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels 

Were  never  folk  so  glad ; 
The  stones  di'd  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 


^ 


MINOR    POEMS.  325 

Jolin  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 

Seized  fast  tiie  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again  ; 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he, 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  liis  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came ;  for  loss  of  time,    , 
Although  it  grieved  him  sore,        ^ 

Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew, 
Would  trouble  him  much  more. 

'Twas  long  before  the  customers  - 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty,  screaming,  came  down  stairs, 

"  The  wine  is  left  behind !" 

Good  lack !  quoth  he — yet  bring  it  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise. 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword. 

When  I  do  exeicise. 

N"ow  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved. 

And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear. 

Through  which  the  belt  he  drew, 
And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side. 

To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe,  J 

His  long  red  cloak,  well  brush'd  and  neat,v/ 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed. 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones 

With  caution  and  good  heed ! 
28 


326  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But,  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneatli  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  gall'd  him  in  liis  seat. 

So,  Fair  and  softly,  John  he  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

AVho  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasp -d  the  mane  Avith  both  his  hanis, 

And  eke  Avitli  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
"What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  naught;! 

Away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out. 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay. 
Till,  loop  and  button  faihng  both, 
'  At  last  it  flew  aAvay. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 
The  bottles  he  had  slung ; 
''      A  bottle  swinging^at  each  side. 
As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screkui'd. 
Up  flew  the  windows  all ;  ^ 

And  every  soul  cried  out,  AYell  done ! 
As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin — who  but  he? 
His  fame  soon  spread  around — 
y     He  carries  weight !  he  rides  a  race ! 
'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound ! 


MINOR    POEMS.  327 

And  still,  as  fast  as  lie  drew  near, 

'Twas  wonderful  to  view 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoko 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seem'd  to  carry  w^eight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle-necks 

Still  danghng  at  his  waist.        j 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play. 
And  till  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay. 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  w^ay, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundhng  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton,  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

Stop,  stop,  John  Gil])in  — Here's  the  house  I 

They  all  at  once  did  cry ; 
The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired: 

Said  Gilpin — So  am  I !  -^ 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there; 
For  why '? — his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 


328  cowper's  poetical  works. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong ; 
So  (lid  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  ont  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will. 
Till  at  his  friend  the  Oallender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  Callender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbor  in  such  trim. 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate, 

And  thus  accosted  him : — 

What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell; 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  wh}^  bareheaded  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all. 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke ; 
And  thus  unto  the  Callender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke : 

C      I  came  because  your  horse  wt)uld  come ; 
'  And,  if  I  well  forebode. 

My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 
They  are  upon  the  road. 

"^^    The  Callender,  right  glad  to  find 
His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Keturn'd  him  not  a  single  word. 
But  to  the  house  went  in ; 

"Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig; 

A  wig/that  flow'd  behind, 
A  hat  n/)t  much  the  worse  for  wear. 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  Held  them  up,  and,  in  his  turn, 
^hus  show'd  his  ready  wit, — 

My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit. 


MINOR    POEMS.  829 

But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 

That  liangs  upon  your  face ; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 

Be  in  a  hungry  case. 

Says  John,  It  is  my  wedding-day, 

And  all  the  world  would  stare. 
If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 

And  I  should  dine  at  Ware. 

So  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said, 

I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 
'Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here, 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine. 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boait! 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear;        ^ 
For  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear ; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar. 
And  gallopp'd  off  with  all  his  might, 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

AVent  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig ; 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 

For  why? — they  were  too  big.^ 

Kow,  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away. 

She  pulPd  out  half-a-crown ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said. 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
This  shall  be  yours  when  you  bring  back 

My  husband  safe  and  well. 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain. 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop 

By  catching  at  his  rein ; 


330  cowper"'s  poetical  works. 

But,  not  performing  what  lie  meant, 
j^nd  gladly  Avould  have  done, 

The  frighten'd  steed  he  frightened  more, 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  his  heels, 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 

The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road 

Tlius  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry : 

Stop  thief!  stop  thief! — a  highwayman! 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute ;  xj 

And  all  and  each  that  pass'd  that  way   ^ 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space. 
The  tollmen  thinking,  as  before, 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too. 

For  he  got  first  to  town ; 
Kor  stopp'd  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing.  Long  live  the  king, 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he ; 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 

May  1  be  there  to  see ! 


THE  DOVES. 

Keasonixg  at  every  step  he  treads, 

Man  yet  mistakes  his  way ; 
While  meaner  things,  whom  instinct  leads, 

Are  rarely  known  to  stray. 


MINOR    POEMS.  331 

One  silent  eve  I  wander'd  late, 

And  heard  the  voice  of  love ; 
The  turtle  thus  address'd  her  mate, 

And  soothed  the  listening  dove :  ^ 

Oiir  mutual  hond  of  faith  and  truth    ' 

ISTo  time  shall  disengage; 
Those  hlessings  of  our  early  youth 

Shall  cheer  our  latest  age : 

While  innocence  without  disguise, 

And  constancy  sincere, 
Shall  fill  the  circles  of  those  eyes. 

And  mine  can  read  them  there: 

Those  ills  that  wait  on  all  helow 

Shall  nVer  be  felt  by  me, 
Or  gently  felt,  and  only  so, 

xVs  being  shared  with  thee. 

"When  lightnings  flash  among  the  trees, 

Or  kites  are  hovering  near, 
I  fear  lest  thee  alone  they  seize, 

And  know  no  other  fear. 

'Tis  then  I  feel  myself  a  wife. 

And  press  thy  wedded  side, 
Eesolved  a  union  formed  for  life, 

Death  never  shall  divide. 

But  oh  !  if,  fickle  and  unchaste 

(Forgive  a  transient  thought). 
Thou  couldst  become  unkind  at  last, 

And  scorn  thy  present  lot, 

Ko  need  of  lightnings  from  on  high, 

Or  kites  with  cruel  beak ; 
Denied  the  endearments  of  thine  eye, 

This  widow'd  heart  would  break. 

Thus  sang  the  sweet  sequesterd  bird, 

Soft  as  the  passing  win^  ; 
And  I  recorded  what  I  heard 

A  lesson  for  mankind. 


332  cowper's  poetical  works. 


A  FABLE. 

A  Raven,  while  with  glossy  breast 

Her  new-laid  eggs  she  fondly  pressVl, 

And  on  her  wicker-work  high  mounted. 

Her  chickens  prematurely  counted 

(A  fault  philosophers  might  blame 

If  quite  exempted  from  the  same), 

Enjoy'd  at  ease  the  genial  day ; 

'Twas  April,  as  the  bumpkins  say, 

The  legislature  calPd  it  May. 

But  suddenly  a  wind  as  high 

As  ever  swept  a  winter  sky. 

Shook  the  young  leaves  about  her  ears, 

And  fill'd  her  with  a  thousand  fears, 

Lest  the  rude  blast  should  snap  the  bough, 

And  spread  her  golden  hopes  below. 

But  just  at  eve  the  blowing  weather 

And  all  her  fears  were  hush'd  together : 

And  now,  quoth  poor  unthinking  Ralph, 

'Tis  over,  and  the  brood  is  safe 

(For  ravens,  though,  as  birds  of  omen. 

They  teach  both  conjurers  and  okl  women 

To  tell  us  what  is  to  befall. 

Can't  prophesy  themselves,  at  all). 

The  morning  came,  when  neighbor  Hodge, 

Who  long  had  mark'd  her  airy  lodge. 

And  destined  all  the  treasure  there 

A  gift  to  his  expecting  fair, 

Climb'd  like  a  squirrel  to  his  dray, 

And  bore  the  worthless  prize  away. 


'Tis  Providence  alone  secures 
In  every  change  both  mine  and  yours ; 
Safety  consists  not  in  escape 
From  dangers  of  a  frightful  shape ; 
An  earthquake  may  be  bid  to  spare 
The  man  that's  strangled  by  a  hair ; 
Fate  steals  along  with  silent  tread. 
Found  oftenest  in  what  least  we  dread, 
Frowns  in  the  storm  with  angry  brow, 
But  in  the  sunshine  strikes  the  blow. 


MINOR   POEMS,  333 


A  COMPARISON. 


The  lapse  of  time  and  rivers  is  the  same, 

Both  speed  their  journey  witli  a  restless  stream; 

The  silent  pace  with  which  they  steal  away 

!N"o  wealth  can  bribe,  no  prayers  persuade  to  stay ; 

Alike  irrevocable  both  when  past, 

And  a  wide  ocean  swallows  both  at  last. 

Though  each  resemble  each  in  every  part, 

A  difference  strikes  at  length  the  musing  heart ; 

Streams  never  flow  in  vain ;  where  streams  abound. 

How  laughs  the  land  with  various  plenty  crown'd  I 

But  time,  that  should  enrich  the  nobler  mind, 

E'eglected,  leaves  a  dreary  waste  behind. 


ANOTHER. 

ADDRESSED   TO   A    YOUNG   LADYo 

Sweet  stream  that  w^inds  through  yonder  glade. 

Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid — 

Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along. 

Far  from  the  world's  gay  busy  throng. 

With  gentle  yet  prevailing  force. 

Intent  upon  her  destined  course ; 

Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does. 

Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes. 

Pure-bosom'd  as  that  watery  glass, 

And  heaven  reflected  in  her  face. 


VERSES 


lUPPOSED    TO    BE    WRITTEN     BY    ALEXANDER    SELKIRK,    DURING    HIS 
SOLITARY    ABODE    IN    THE    ISLAND    OF    JUAN    FERNANDEZ. 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute ; 

From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea, 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 


334  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

I  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech — 

I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plain 

My  form  with  indifference  see ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 

Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  friendship,  and  love. 

Divinely  bestow'd  upon  man. 
Oh,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove, 

How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age. 

And  be  cheer'd  by  the  sallies  of  youtho 

Eeligion !  what  treasure  untold 

Resides  in  that  heavenly  word ! 
More  precious  than  silver  and  gold. 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  afi:brd. 
But  the  sound  of  the  church-going  bell 

These  valleys  and  rocks  never  heard, 
.    Ne'er  sigh'd  at  the  sound  of  a  knell. 

Or  smiled  when  a  Sabbath  appeared. 

Ye  winds,  that  have  made  me  your  sporty 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more ! 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me? 
Oh,  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend. 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see! 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight ! 

The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-Avinged  arrows  of  light. 

When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land, 
In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there ; 


MINOR    POEMS.  335 

But  alas !  recollection  at  hand 
Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea-fowl  has  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  has  laid  down  in  his  lair ; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  iny  cabin  repair. 
There  is  mercy  in  every  place, 

And  mercy,  encouraging  thought ! 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace. 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 


ON  OBSERVING  SOME  NAMES  OF  LITTLE  NOTE 

RECORDED    IN    THE    BIOGRAPHIA    BRrfANNICA. 

Oir,  fond  attempt  to  give  a  deathless  lot 
To  names  ignoble,  born  to  be  forgot ! 
In  vain  recorded  in  historic  page, 
They  court  the  notice  of  a  future  age : 
Those  twinkling  tiny  lustres  of  the  land 
Drop  one  by  one  from  Fame's  neglecting  hand ; 
Lethean  gulfs  receive  them  as  they  fall. 
And  dark  oblivion  soon  absorbs  them  all. 

So  when  a  child,  as  playful  children  use, 
Has  burnt  to  tinder  a  stale  iast  year's  news. 
The  flame  extinct,  he  views  the  roving  fire — 
There  goes  my  lady,  and  there  goes  the  squire ; 
There  goes  the  parson,  oh,  illustrious  spark ! 
And  there,  scarce  less  illustrious,  goes  the  clerk ! 


ON  THE  PROMOTION  OF  EDWARD  THURLOW,  ESQ., 

TO  THE  LORD  HIGH  CHANCELLORSHIP  OF  ENGLAND, 

Round  Thurlow's  head  in  early  youth. 

And  in  his  sportive  days. 
Fair  Science  pour'd  the  light  of  truth, 

And  Genius  shed  his  rays. 


336  cowper's  poetical  works. 

See !  with  united  wonder,  cried 
The  experienced  and  the  sage, 

Ambition  in  a  boy  supplied 
With  all  the  skill  of  age ! 

Discernment,  eloquence,  and  grace, 
Proclaim  him  born  to  sway 

The  balance  in  the  highest  place. 
And  bear  the  palm  away. 

The  praise  bestow'd  was  just  and  wise; 

He  sprang  impetuous  forth. 
Secure  of  conquest,  where  the  prize 

Attends  superior  worth. 

So  the  best  courser  on  the  plain. 
Ere  yet  he  starts,  is  known, 

And  does  but  at  the  goal  obtain 
What  all  had  deem'd  his  own. 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 

Come,  Peace  of  mind,  delightful  guest! 
Eeturn,  and  make  thy  downy  nest 

Once  more  in  this  sad  heart : 
Nor  riches  I  nor  power  pursue, 
Nor  hold  forbidden  joys  in  view ; 

We  therefore  need  not  part. 

Where  wilt  thou  dwell,  if  not  with  me, 
From  Avarice  and  Ambition  free, 

And  Pleasure's  fatal  wiles  ? 
For  whom,  alas !  dost  thou  prepare 
The  sweets  that  I  was  wont  to  share. 

The  banquet  of  thy  smiles  ? 

The  great,  the  gay,  shall  they  partake 
The  heaven  that  thou  alone  canst  make  ? 

And  wilt  thou  quit  the  stream 
That  murmurs  through  the  dewy  mead, 
The  grove  and  the  sequester'd  shed, 

To  be  a  guest  with  them  ? 


MINOR    POEMS.  33*7 

For  thee  I  panted,  tliee  I  prized, 
For  thee  I  gladly  sacrificed 

Wliate'er  I  loved  before ; 
And  shall  I  see  'thee  start  away. 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  hear  thee  say — 

Farewell !  we  meet  no  more  ? 


HUMAN  FRAILTY. 

AYeak  and  irresolute  is  man ; 

The  purpose  of  to-day, 
AYoven  with  pains  into  his  plan. 

To-morrow  rends  away. 

The  how  w^ell  bent,  and  smart  tlie  spring, 

Vice  seems  already  slain ; 
But  Passion  rudely  snaps  the  string, 

And  it  revives  again. 

Some  foe  to  his  upright  intent 

Finds  out  his  Aveaker  part ; 
Virtue  engages  his  assent. 

But  Pleasure  wins  his  heart. 

'Tis  here  the  folly  of  the  wise 
Through  all  his  art  we  view ; 
And,  wdiile  his  tongue  the  charge  denies, 
His  conscience  OAvns  it  true. 

Bound  on  a  voyage  of  awful  length 

And  dangers  little  known, 
A  stranger  to  superior  strength, 

Man  vainly  trusts  his  own. 

But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail 

To  reach  the  distant  coast ; 
The  breath  of  Heaven  must  swell  the  sail, 

Or  all  the  toil  is  lost. 
29 


338  cowper's  poetical  works. 


THE  MODERN  PATRIOT. 

Eebelliox  is  my  theme 'all  day; 

I  only  wish  'twould  come 
(As  who  knows  but  perhaps  it  may  ?) 

A  little  nearer  home. 

Yon  roaring  boys,  who  rave  and  fight 
On  t'other  side  the  Atlantic, 

I  always  held  them  in  the  right. 
But  most  so  when  most  frantic. 

When  lawless  mobs  insult  the  court, 
That  man  shall  be  my  toast. 

If  breaking  windows  be  the  sport, 
"Who  bravely  breaks  the  most. 

But  oh !  for  him  my  fancy  culls 
The  choicest  flowers  she  bears, 

Who  constitutionally  pulls 
Your  house  about  your  ears. 

Such  civil  broils  are  my  delight. 

Though  some  folks  can't  endure  'em. 

Who  say  the  mob  are  mad  outright, 
And  that  a  rope  must  cure  'em. 

A  rope !  I  wish  we  patriots  had 
Such  strings  for  all  who  need  'em — 

What!  hang  a  man  for  going  mad? 
Then  farewell  British  freedom. 


REPORT  OF  AN   ADJUDGED   CASE 

NOT  TO  BE  FOUND  IN   ANY  OF  THE  BOOKS. 

Between  Kose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose, 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong ; 

Tlie  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows. 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belo'.ig. 


MINOR    POEMS.  330 

So  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued  the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig  full  of  learning  ; 

While  chief  haron  Ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws. 
So  famed  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

In  behalf  of  the  Nose  it  will  quickly  appear, 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find, 

That  the  Nose  has  had  spectacles  always  in  wear, 
Whioh  amounts  to  possession  time  out  of  mind. 

Then  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court — 

Your  lordship  observes  they  are  made  with  a  straddle 

As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is ;  in  short, 
Design'd  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 

Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose 
('Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be  again) 

That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  Nose, 

Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear  spectacles  then? 

On  the  whole  it  appears,  and  my  argument  shows, 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  will  never  condemn, 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  made  for  the  Nose, 
And  the  Nose  was  as  plainly  intended  for  them. 

Then  shifting  his  side,  as  a  lawyer  knows  how. 

He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  Eyes : 
But  Avhat  were  his  arguments  few  people  know. 

For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally  wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed,  with  a  grave  solemn  tone 
Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  ifov  hut — 

That,  whenever  the  Nose  put  his  spectacles  on, 
By  daylight  or  candlelight — Eyes  should  be  shut ! 


)N  THE  BURNING  OF  LORD  MANSFIELD'S  LIBRARY, 

yOETHER  WITH  HIS  MSS.,  BY  THE  MOB,  IX  THE  MONTH  OF  JUNE,  1780. 

So  then — the  Yandals  of  our  isle, 

Sworn  foes  to  sense  and  hnv, 
Have  burnt  to  dust  a  nobler  pile 

Than  ever  Roman  saw ! 


340  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  MiTRRAY  sighs  o'er  Pope  and  Swift, 
And  many  a  treasure  more, 

The  well-judged  purchase,  and  the  gift 
That  graced  his  letter'd  store. 

Their  pages  mangled,  burnt,  and  toKn, 

The  loss  was  his  alone ; 
But  ages  yet  to  come  shall  mourn 

The  burning  of  his  own. 


OX  THE  SAME. 

When  wit  and  genius  meet  their  doom 

In  all-devouring  flame, 
They  tell  us  of  the  fate  of  Rome, 

And  bid  us  fear  the  same. 

O'er  Murray's  loss  the  Muses  wept, 
.  They  felt  the  rude  alarm ; 
Yet  bless'd  the  guardian  care  that  kept 
Ilis  sacred  head  from  harm. 

There  Memory,  like  the  bee  that's  fed 

From  Flora's  balmy  store. 
The  quintessence  of  all  he  read 

Had  treasured  up  before. 

The  lawless  herd,  with  fury  blind, 
Have  done  him  cruel  wrong ; 

The  flowers  are  gone — but  still  we  find 
The  honey  on  his  tongue. 


THE  LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD  REPROVED 

OR,   HYPOCRISY    DETECTED.^ 

Thus  says  the  Prophet  of  the  Turk: 
Good  Mussulman,  abstain  from  pork ; 
There  is  a  part  in  every  swine, 
No  friend  or  follower  of  mine 

*  This  ingenious  little  piece  was  versified  from  a  prose  story,  by  Cowper, 
flaring  one  of  his  fits  of  illness,  and  in  an  hour.  Hence  the  common  cxjircs- 
6iun,  "  Going  the  whole  hog." 


MINOR    POEMS.  341 

May  taste,  whatever  liis  inclination, 
On  pain  of  excomTnnnication. 
Such  Mahomet's  mysterious  charge, 
And  tlius  he  left  tlie  point  at  large. 
Had  lie  the  sinful  part  express'd, 
They  might  with  safety  eat  the  rest; 
But  for  one  piece  they  thought  it  hard 
From  the  whole  liog  to  he  debarrVl ; 
And  set  their  wit  at  work  to  tind 
What  joint  the  Prophet  liad  in  mind. 
Much  controversy  straight  arose, 
These  choose  the  back,  the  belly  those; 
By  some  'tis  confidently  said 
He  meant  not  to  forbid  the  head ; 
While  others  at  that  doctrine  rail. 
And  piously  prefer  the  tail. 
Thus,  conscience  freed  from  every  clog, 
Mahometans  eat  up  the  hog. 

You  laugh — 'tis  well — the  tale  applied 
May  make  you  laugh  on  t'other  side. 
Renounce  the  world — the  preacher  cries. 
We  do — a  multitude  replies. 
While  one  as  innocent  regards 
A  snug  and  friendly  game  at  cards  *, 
And  one,  whatever  you  may  say. 
Can  see  no  evil  in  a  play ; 
Some  love  a  concert,  or  a  race ; 
And  others,  shooting  and  the  chase. 
Reviled  and  loved,  renounced  and  followed, 
Thus,  bit  by  bit,  the  world  is  swallow'd ; 
Each  thinks  his  neighbor  makes  too  free. 
Yet  likes  a  slice  as  well  as  he : 
With  sophistry  their  sauce  they  sweeten, 
Till  quite  from  tail  to  snout  'tis  eaten. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  AND  GLOW-WORM. 

A  Nightingale,  that  all  day  long 
Had  cheer'd  the  village  with  his  song,- 
Nor  yet  at  eve  his  note  suspended, 
Nor  yet  when  eventide  was  ended, 


342  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Began  to  feel,  as  well  be  might, 
The  keen  demands  of  appetite ; 
When,  looking  eagerly  around, 
He  spied  far  off,  npon  the  ground, 
A  something  sliining  in  the  dark, 
And  knew  tlie  Glow-worm  by  his  spark; 
So  stooping  down  from  hawthorn  top, 
He  thouglit  to  put  him  in  his  crop. 
The  worm,  a^vare  of  his  intent. 
Harangued  him  thus,  right  eloquent — 
"Did  you  admire  my  lamp,"  quoth  he, 
"  As  mucli  as  I  your  minstrelsy. 
You  would  abhor  to  do  me  wrong 
As  much  as  I  to  spoil  your  song ;  | 

For  'twas  the  self-same  Power  divine  %J 
Taught  you  to  sing,  and  me  to  shine ; 
That  you  with  music,  I  with  light. 
Might  beautify  and  cheer  the  night." 
The  songster  heard  his  short  oration. 
And,  warbling  out  his  approbation, 
Keleased  him,  as  my  story  tells, 
And  found  a  supper  somewhere  else. 

Hence  jarring  sectaries  may  learn  . 
Their  real  interest  to  discern : 
That  brother  should  not  war  with  brother,i/ 
And  worry  and  devour  each  other; 
•  But  sing  and  shine  by  sweet  consent. 
Till  life's  poor  transient  night  is  spent. 
Respecting  in  each  other's  case 
The  gifts  of  nature  and  of  grace. 

Those  Christians  best  deserve  the  name 
Who  studiously  make  peace  their  aim;  , 
Peace,  both  the  duty  and  tlie  prize       N 
Of  him  that  creeps  and  him  that  flies. 


ON  A  GOLDFINCH, 

STARVED  TO  DEATH  IN  HIS  CAGE. 

Time  was  Avhen  I  was  free  as  air. 

The  thistle's  downy  seed  my  fare, 

My  drink  the  morning  dew ; 


MINOR   POEMS.  343 

I  perch'd  at  will  on  every  spray, 
My  form  genteel,  my  plumage  gay, 
My  strains  forever  new. 

But  gaudy  plumage,  spriglitly  strain. 
And  form  genteel  were  all  in  vain, 

And  of  a  transient  date ; 
For,  caught  and  caged,  and  starved  to  death. 
In  dying  sighs  my  little  breath 

Soon  pass'd  the  wiry  gate. 

Thanks,  gentle  swain,  for  all  my  woes, 
And  thanks  for  this  effectual  close 

And  cure  of  every  ill ! 
More  cruelty  could  none  express ; 
And  I,  if  you  had  shown  me  less. 

Had  been  your  prisoner  still. 


THE  PINE-APPLE  AND  THE  BEE. 

The  pine-apples,  in  triple  row, 
Were  basking  hot,  and  all  in  blow; 
A  bee  of  most  discerning  taste 
Perceived  the  fragrance  as  he  pass'd ; 
On  eager  wing  the  spoiler  came. 
And  search'd  for  crannies  in  the  frame, 
Urged  his  attempt  on  every  side. 
To  every  pane  his  trunk  applied ; 
But  still  in  vain,  the  frame  was  tight. 
And  only  pervious  to  the  light : 
Thus  having  wasted  half  the  day. 
He  trimm'd  his  flight  another  way. 

Methinks,  I  said,  in  thee  I  find 
The  sin  and  madness  of  mankind  : 
To  joys  forbidden  man  aspires, 
Consumes  his  soul  with  vain  desires,; 
Folly  the  spring  of  his  pursuit. 
And  disappointment  all  the  fruit. 
While  Cynthio  ogles,  as  she  passes, 
The  nymph  between  two  chariot  glasses, 
She  is  the  pine-apple,  and  he 
The  silly  unsuccessful  bee. 


)!' 


344  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  maid  wlio  views  witli  pensive  air 
The  show-glass  frauglit  with  glittering  ware, 
Sees  watches,  bracelets,  rings,  and  lockets, 
But  sighs  at  tlionght  of  empty  pockets ; 
Like  thine,  her  appetite  is  keen. 
But  ah,  the  cruel  glass  between ! 

Our  dear  delights  are  often  such, 
Exposed  to  view,  but  not  to  touch ; 
The  sight  our  foolish  heart  inflames, 
"VVe  long  for  pine-apples  in  frames ; 
With  hopeless  wish  one  looks  and  lingers ; 
One  breaks  the  glass,  and  cuts  his  fingers ; 
But  they  whom  truth  and  wisdom  lead 
Can  gather  hone}^  from  a  weed. 


THE  SHRUBBERY. 

WRITTEN    IN    A   TIME   OF   AFFLICTION. 

On,  happy  shades !  to  me  unblest, 
Friendly  to  peace,  but  not  to  me ; 

How  ill  the  scene  that  offers  rest, 
And  heart  that  cannot  rest,  agree ! 

This  glassy  stream,  that  spreading  pine. 
Those  alders  quivering  to  the  breeze. 

Might  soothe  a  soul  less  hurt  than  mine, 
And  please,  if  any  thing  could  please. 

But  fix'd  unalterable  Care 

Forgoes  not  what  she  feels  within, 

Shows  the  same  sadness  everywhere. 
And  slights  the  season  and  the  scene. 

For  all  that  pleased  in  wood  or  lawn. 

While  Peace  possess'd  these  silent  bowers, 

Her  animating  smile  withdrawn, 
Has  lost  its  beauties  and  its  powers. 

The  saint  or  moralist  should  tread 
This  moss-grown  alley,  musing  slow ; 

They  seek  like  me  the  secret  shade. 
But  not  like  me  to  nourish  woe ! 


MINOR    POExMS.  345 


Me  fruitful  scenes  and  prospects  waste 
Alike  admonish  not  to  roam ; 

These  tell  me  of  enjoyments  past, 
And  those  of  sorrows  yet  to  come. 


THE  WINTER  NOSEGAY. 

"What  N"ature,  alas !  has  denied 

To  the  delicate  growth  of  our  isle, 
Art  has  in  a  measure  supplied, 

And  Winter  is  deck'd  with  a  smile. 
See,  Mary,  what  beauties  I  bring 

From  the  shelter  of  that  sunny  shed, 
Where  the  flowers  have  the  charms  of  the  spring. 

Though,  abroad  they  are  frozen  and  dead. 

'Tis  a  bower  of  Arcadian  sweets. 

Where  Flora  is  still  in  her  prime ; 
A  fortress  to  which  she  retreats. 

From  the  cruel  assaults  of  the  clime. 
While  earth  w^ears  a  mantle  of  snow, 

These  pinks  are  as  fresh  and  as  gay 
As  the  fairest  and  sweetest  that  blow 

Oil  tlie  beautiful  bosom  of  May. 

See  how  they  have  safely  survived 

The  frowns  of  a  sky ' so  severe ! 
Such  Mary's  true  love,  that' has  lived 

Through  many  a  turbulent  year. 
The  charms  of  the  late-blowing  rose 

Seem  graced  with  a  livelier  hue. 
And  the  winter  of  sorrow  best  shows 

The  truth  of  a  friend  such  as  you. 


MUTUAL  FORBEARANCE 

NECESSARY   TO   THE   HAPPINESS  OF   THE  MARRIED   STATE. 

The  lady  thus  address'd  her  spouse — 
AVhat  a  mere  dungeon  is  this  house! 
By  no  means  large  enough ;  and  w' as  it, 
Yet  this  dull  room,  and  that  dark  closet, 


346  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Those  hangings  with  their  worn-out  graces, 
Long  beards,  long  noses,  and  pale  faces, 
Are  such  an  antiquated  scene. 
They  overwhelm  me  with  the  spleen. 
— Sir  Humphrey,  shooting  in  the  dark. 
Makes  answer  quite  beside  the  mark : 
No  doubt,  my  dear,  I  bade  him  come, 
Enga/ged  myself  to  he  at  home, 
And  shall  expect  him  at  the  door 
Precisely  as  the  clock  strikes  four. 

You  are  so  deaf,  the  lady  cried 
(And  raised  her  voice,  and  frown'd  beside) — 
You  are  so  sadly  deaf,  my  dear, 
AVhat  shall  I  do  to  make  you  hear? 

Dismiss  poor  Harry !  he  replies ; 
Some  people  are  more  nice  than  wise ; 
For  one  slight  trespass  all  this  stir? 
What  if  he  did  ride  whip  and  spur? 
'Twas  but  a  mile — your  favorite  horse 
Will  never  look  one  hair  the  worse. 

Well,  I  protest  'tis  past  all  bearing ! — 
Child !  I  am  rather  hard  of  hearing — 
Yes,  truly — one  must  scream  and  bawl-, 
I  tell  you,  you  can't  hear  at  all ! 
Then,  with  a  voice  exceeding  low — 
No  matter  if  you  hear  or  nOo 

Alas !  and  is  domestic  strife, 
That  sorest  ill  of  human  life, 
A  plague  so  little  to  be  fear'd, 
As  to  be  wantonly  incur r'd. 
To  gratify  a  fretful  passion, 
On  every  trivial  provocation  ? 
The  kindest  and  the  happiest  pair 
Will  find  occasion  to  forbear ; 
And  something  every  day  they  live 
To  pity,  and  perhaps  forgive. 
But  if  infirmities  that  fall 
In  common  to  the  lot  of  all, 
A  blemish  or  a  sense  impair'd, 
Are  crimes  so  little  to  be  spared — 
Then  farewell  all  that  must  create 
The  comfort  of  the  wedded  state : 
Instead  of  harmony,  'tis  jar. 


MINOR    POExMS.  347 

And  tiiiniilt,  and  intestine  wnr. 
— Tlie  love  that  cheers  life's  latest  stage, 
Proof  against  sickness  and  old  age, 
Preserved  by  virtue  from  declension, 
Becomes  not  weary  of  attention ; 
But  lives,  when  that  exterior  grace 
Which  first  inspired  the  flame,  decays. 
'Tis  gentle,  delicate,  and  kind, 
To  faults  compassionate  or  blind. 
And  will  with  sympathy  endure 
Those  evils  it  would  gladly  cure ; 
But  angry,  coarse,  and  harsh  expression 
Shows  love  to  be  a  mere  profession ; 
Proves  that  the  heart  is  none  of  his, 
Or  soon  expels  him  if  it  is. 


TO  THE   REV.   MR.  NEWTON. 

AN  INVITATION  INTO  THE  COUNTRY. 

The  swallows  in  their  torprd  state 
Compose  their  useless  wing. 

And  bees  in  hives  as  idly  wait 
The  call  of  early  spring. 

The  keenest  frost  that  binds  the  stream, 
The  wildest  wind  that  blows. 

Are  neither  felt  nor  fear'd  by  them. 
Secure  of  their  repose. 

But  man,  all  feeling  and  awake, 

The  gloomy  scene  surveys ; 
With  present  ills  his  heart  must  ache, 

And  pant  for  brighter  days. 

Old  Winter,  halting  o'er  the  mead. 

Bids  me  and  Mary  mourn ; 
But  lovely  Si)ring  peeps  o'er  his  head. 

And  wliispers  your  return. 

Then  April,  with  her  sister  May, 
Shall  chase  him  from  the  bowers, 


348  coavper's  poetical  works. 

And  weave  fresh  garlands  every  day, 
To  crown  the  smiling  hours. 

And  if  a  tear,  that  speaks  regret 
Of  happier  times,  appear,    • 

A  glimpse  of  joy,  that  we  have  met, 
Shall  shine,  and  dry  the  tear. 


BOADICEA. 

AN  ODE. 

"Whex  the  British  warrior  queen, 
Bleeding  from  the  Boman  rods, 

Souglit,  Avith  an  indignant  mien, 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods — 

Sage  beneath  the  spreading  oak 
Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief; 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  of  rage,  and  full  of  grief. 

Princess !  if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'Tis  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

Rome  shall  perish — write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorr'd. 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

Rome,  for  empire  far  renownVl, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states ; 

Soon  her  pride  sliall  kiss  the  ground, — 
Hark !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates ! 

Other  Romans  shall  arise. 
Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name ; 

Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize. 
Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

ArmVl  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings. 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 


MINOR    POEMS.  349 

Regions  Ca3sar  never  knew 

Tliy  posterity  shall  SAvay ; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew, 

None  invincible  as  they. 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 

Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
Bending,  as  he  swept  the  chords 

Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride, 

Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow ; 
Rush'd  to  battle,  fought,  and  died ; 

Dying,  hurPd  them  at  the  foe. 

"  Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud. 
Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due ; 

Empire  is  on  us  bestow'd, 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you." 


HEROISM. 

There  was  a  time  when  Etna's  silent  fire 
Slept  unperceived,  the  mountain  j^et  entire ; 
"When,  conscious  of  no  danger  from  below,' 
She  tower' d  a  cloud-capp'd  pyramid  of  snow. 
No  thunders  shook  with  deep  intestine  sound 
The  blooming  groves  that  girdled  her  around ; 
Her  unctuous  olives  and  her  purple  vines 
(Unfelt  the  fury  of  those  bursting  mines). 
The  peasant's  hopes,  and  not  in  vain,  assured, 
In  peace  upon  her  sloping  sides  matured. 
When  on  a  day  like  that  of  the  last  doom, 
A  conflagration  laboring  in  her  womb, 
Slie  teem'd  and  heaved  with  an  infernal  birth, 
That  shook  the  circling  seas  and  solid  earth. 
Dark  and  voluminous  the  vapors  rise. 
And  hang  their  horrors  in  the  neighboring  skies; 
While  through  the  Stygian  veil,  that  blots  the  day, 
In  dazzling  streaks  the  vivid  lightnings  play. 
But  oh !  what  Muse,  and  in  what  powers  of  song, 
Can  trace  the  torrent  as  it  burns  along? 
(Havoc  and  devastation  in  the  van, 
30 


350  cowper's  poetical  works. 

It  marches  o'er  the  prostrate  works  of  man ; 
Vines,  olives,  herbage,  forests  disappear, 
And  all  the  charms  of  a  Sicilian  year. 

Kevolving  seasons,  fruitless  as  they  pass, 
See  it  an  nninform'd  and  idle  mass ; 
Without  a  soil  to  invite  the  tiller's  care, 
Or  blade  that  might  redeem  it  from  despair. 
Yet  time  at  length  (what  will  not  time  achieve  ?) 
Clothes  it  with  earth,  and  bids  the  produce  live. 
Once  more  the  spiry  myrtle  crowns  the  glade, 
And  ruminating  flocks  enjoy  the  shade. 
O  bliss  precarious,  and  unsafe  retreats, 
O  charming  Paradise  of  short-lived  sweets  ! 
The  self-same  gale  that  wafts  the  fragrance  round 
Brings  to  the  distant  ear  a  sullen  sound : 
Again  the  mountain  feels  the  imprisoned  foe, 
Again  pours  ruin  on  the  vale  below ; 
Ten  thousand  swains  the  wasted  scene  deplore. 
That  only  future  ages  can  restore. 

Ye  monarchs,  whom  the  lure  of  honor  draws, 
Who  write  in  blood  the  merits  of  your  cause, 
Who  strike  the  blow,  then  plead  your  own  defence, 
Glory  your  aim,  but  justice  your  pretence; 
Behold  in  Etna's  emblematic  fires 
The  mischiefs  your  ambitious  pride  inspires ! 

Fast  by  the  stream  that  bounds  your  just  domain, 
And  tells  you  where  ye  have  a  right  to  reign, 
A  nation  dwells,  not  envious  of  your  throne. 
Studious  of  peace,  their  neighbor's  and  their  own. 
Ill-fated  race !  how  deeply  must  they  rue 
Their  only  crime,  vicinity  to  you ! 
The  trumpet  sounds,  your  legions  swarm  abroad ; 
Through  the  ripe  harvest  lies  their  destined  road; 
At  every  step  beneath  their  feet  they  tread 
The  life  of  multitudes,  a  nation's  bread ; 
Earth  seems  a  garden  in  its  loveliest  dress 
Before  them,  and  behind  a  wilderness. 
Famine,  and  Pestilence,  her  first-born  son. 
Attend  to  finish  what  the  sword  begun ; 
And  echoing  praises,  such  as  fiends  might  earn. 
And  Folly  pays,  resound  at  your  return. 
A  calm  succeeds  y — but  Plenty,  with  her  train 
Of  heartfelt  joys,  succeeds  not  soon  again; 


liUNOR    POEMS.  351 

And  years  of  pining  indigence  mnst  show 
"What  scourges  are  the  gods  that  rule  below. 

Yet  man,  laborious  man,  by  slow  degrees 
(Such  is  his  tliirst  of  opulence  and  ease), 
Plies  all  the  sinews  of  industrious  toil, 
Gleans  up  the  refuse  of  the  general  spoil, 
Rebuilds  the  towers  that  smoked  upon  the  plain, 
And  the  sun  gilds  the  shining  spires  again. 

Increasing  commerce  and  reviving  art 
Renew  the  quarrel  on  the  conqueror's  part ; 
And  the  sad  lesson  must  be  learn'd  once  more, 
That  wealth  within  is  ruin  at  the  door. 
What  are  ye,  monarchs,  laurell'd  heroes,  say, 
But  ^tnas  of  the  suffering  world  ye  sway  'i 
Sweet  Nature,  stripp'd  of  her  embroider'd  robe, 
Deplores  the  wasted  regions  of  her  globe. 
And  stands  a  witness  at  Truth's  awful  bar. 
To  prove  you  there  destroyers,  as  ye  are. 

O  place  me  in  some  Heaven-protected  isle, 
"Where  Peace,  and  Equity,  and  Freedom  smile ; 
"Where  no  volcano  pours  his  fiery  flood, 
No  criGsted  warrior  dips  his  plume  in  blood ; 
Where  Power  secures  what  Industry  has  won ; 
Where  to  succeed  is  not  to  be  undone ; 
A  land  that  distant  tyrants  hate  in  vain. 
In  Britain's  isle,  beneath  a  George's  reign. 


THE  POET,  THE  OYSTER,  AND  SENSITIVE  PLANT. 

An  Oyster,  cast  upon  the  shore. 
Was  heard,  though  never  heard  before, 
Complaining  in  a  speech  well  worded, 
And  worthy  thus  to  be  recorded : — 

Ah,  hapless  wretch!  condemn'd  to  dwell 
Forever  in  my  native  shell ; 
Ordain'd  to  move  when  others  please, 
Not  for  my  own  content  or  ease  ; 
But  toss'd  and  buffeted  about. 
Now  in  the  water,  and  now  out. 
'Twere  better  to  be  born  a  stone, 
Of  ruder  shape,  and  feeling  none. 
Than  with  a  tenderness  like  mine, 


352  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  sensibilities  so  fine ! 
I  envy  that  unfeeling  shrub, 
Fast  rooted  against  every  rub. 

The  plant  he  meant  grew  not  far  off, 
And  felt  the  sneer  with  scorn  enough, — 
AVas  hurt,  disgusted,  mortitied, 
And  with  asperity  replied : — 

(When,  cry  the  botanists,  and  stare. 
Did  plants  call'd  Sensitive  grow  there? 
'No  matter  when — a  poet's  Muse  is 
To  make  them  grow  just  where  she  chooses.) 

You  shapeless  nothing  in  a  dish, 
"You  that  are  but  almost  a  fish, 
I  scorn  your  coarse  insinuation, 
And  have  most  plentiful  occasion 
To  wish  myself  the  rock  I  view. 
Or  such  another  dolt  as  you. 
For  many  a  grave  and  learned  clerk, 
And  many  a  gay  unlettered  spark, 
With  curious  touch  examines  me. 
If  I  can  feel  as  well  as  he ; 
And  when  I  bend,  retire,  and  shrink. 
Says — Well,  'tis  more  than  one  would  think.— 
Thus  life  is  spent — oh,  fie  upon't! — 
In  being  touch'd,  and  crying — Don't ! 

A  Poet,  in  Ins  evening  walk, 
O'erheard  and  check'd  this  idle  talk. 
And  your  fine  sense,  he  said,  and  yours, 
Whatever  evil  it  endures. 
Deserves  not,  if  so  soon  offended, 
Much  to  be  pitied  or  commended. 
Disputes,  though  short,  are  far  too  long. 
Where  both  alike  are  in  the  wrong; 
Your  feelings  in  their  full  amount 
Are  all  upon  your  OAvn  account. 

You,  in  your  grotto- work  inclosed, 
Complain  of  being  thus  exposed; 
Yet  nothing  feel  in  that  rough  coat, 
Save  when  the  knife  is  at  your  throat, 
Wherever  driven  by  wind  or  tide. 
Exempt  from  every  ill  beside. 

And  as  for  you,  my  Lady  Squeamish, 
Wlio  reckon  every  touch  a  blemish, 


MINOR    POEMS.  353 

If  all  the  plants  that  can  be  found 

Embellishing  the  scene  around, 

Should  droop  and  wither  where  they  grow, 

You  would  not  feel  at  all,  not  you. 

The  noblest  minds  their  virtue  prove 

By  pity,  sympathy,  and  love : 

These,  these  are  feelings  truly  fine. 

And  prove  their  owner  half  divine. 

His  censure  reach'd  them  as  he  dealt  it, 
And  each  by  shrinking  show'd  he  felt  it. 


THE  YEARLY  DISTRESS, 

OR   TITHING    TIME    AT   STOCK    IN   ESSEX. 

erbes  addressed  to  a  Country  Clergyman,  complaining  of  the  disagreeableness 
of  the  day  annually  appointed  for  receiving  the  Dues  at  the  Parsonage. 

Come,  ponder  well,  for  'tis  no  jest, 
„  To  laugh  it  would  be  wrong; 
The  troubles  of  a  wortliy  priest. 
The  burden  of  my  song. 

This  priest  he  merry  is  and  blithe 

Three  quarters  of  a  year  : 
But  oh !  it  cuts  him  like  a  scythe, 

When  tithing  time  draws  near. 

lie  then  is  full  of  fright  and  fears, 

As  one  at  point  to  die. 
And  long  before  the  day  appears, 

He  heaves  up  many  a  sigh. 

Eor  then  the  farmers  come  jog,  jog, 

Along  the  miry  road ; 
Each  heart  as  heavy  as  a  log, 

To  make  their  payments  good. 

In  sooth  the  sorrow  of  such  days 

Is  not  to  be  expressed, 
When  he  that  takes  and  he  that  pays 

Are  both  alike  distressed. 


354  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Now  all  unwelcome  at  liis  gates 

The  clumsy  swains  alight, 
With  rueful  faces  and  bald  pates — 

He  trembles  kt  the  sight. 

And  well  he  may,  for  well  he  knows 

Each  bumpkin  of  the  clan. 
Instead  of  paying  Avhat  he  owes, 

Will  cheat  him  if  lie  can. 

So  in  they  come — each  makes  his  leg, 

And  flings  his  head  before, 
And  looks  as  if  he  came  to  beg, 

And  not  to  quit  a  score. 

''And  how  does  miss  and  madam  do, 

The  little  boy  and  all?" 
"All  tight  and  welL     And  liow  do  you, 

Good  Mr.  What-d'ye-call?" 

The  dinner  comes,  and  down  they  sit; 

Were  e'er  sucli  hungry  folk  ? 
There's  little  talking,  and  no  wit; 

It  is  no  time  to  joke. 

One  wipes  his  nose  upon  his  sleeve, 

One  spits  upon  the  floor. 
Yet,  not  to  give  offence  or  grieve, 

Holds  up  the  cloth  before. 

The  punch  goes  round,  and  they  are  dull 

And  lumpish  still  as  ever ; 
Like  barrels  with  their  bellies  full. 

They  only  weigh  the  heavier. 

At  length  the  busy  time  begins, 

''  Come,  neighbors,  we  must  wag." — 

The  money  chinks,  down  drop  their  chins 
Each  lugging  out  his  bag. 

One  talks  of  mildew  and  of  frost, 

And  one  of  storms  of  hail, 
And  one  of  pigs  that  he  has  lost 

By  maggots  at  the  tail. 


MINOR    POEMS.  355 

Quoth  one,  "  A  rarer  man  than  you 

In  pulpit  none  shall  hear  : 
But  yet,  methinks,  to  tell  you  time, 

You  sell  it  plaguy  dear." 

Oh,  why  are  farmers  made  so  coarse. 

Or  clergy  made  so  line? 
A  kick,  that  scarce  would  move  a  horse, 

May  kill  a  sound  divine. 

Then  let  the  boobies  stay  at  home ; 

Twould  cost  him,  1  dare  say. 
Less  trouble  taking  twice  the  sum 

Without  the  clowns  that  pay. 


SONNET, 

ADDRESSED    TO   HENRY    COWPER,    ESQ.* 

On  his  empliatical  and  interesting  Delivery  of  the  Defence  of  "Warren 
Hastings,'  Esq.,  in  the  House  of  Lords. 

CowPEE,  whose  silver  voice,  taskVl  sometimes  hard. 

Legends  prolix  delivers  in  the  ears 

(Attentive  when  thou  read'st)  of  England's  peers. 
Let  verse  at  length  yield  thee  thy  just  reward. 

Thou  w^ast  not  heard  with  drowsy  disregard. 
Expending  late  on  all  that  length  of  plea 
Thy  generous  powers,  but  silence  honor'd  thee. 

Mute  as  e'er  gazed  on  orator  or  bard. 

Thou  art  not  voice  alone,  but  hast  beside 

Both  iieart  and  head ;  and  couldst  with  music  sweet 
Of  Attic  phrase  and  senatorial  tone. 
Like  thy  renown'd  forefathers,  far  and  wide 
Thy  fame  diffuse,  praised  not  for  utterance  meet 
Of  others'  speech,  but  magic  of  thy  own. 

*  Clerk  of  the  Lords.    Sec  Macaulay's  "  Warren  Hastings." 


THE  OLNEY  IIYMS. 


I.    WALKING  WITH   GOD.— Gen.  v.  24. 

On  for  a  closer  walk  with  God, 
A  calm  and  heavenly  frame ; 

A  light  to  shine  upon  the  road 
That  leads  me  to  the  Lamb ! 

"Where  is  the  blessedness  I  knew 
When  first  I  saw  the  Lord  ? 

Where  is  the  soul-refreshing  view 
Of  Jesus  and  his  Word  ? 

What  peaceful  hours  I  once  enjoy'd ! 

How  sweet  their  memory  still ! 
But  they  have  left  an  aching  void 

The  world  can  never  fill. 

Return,  O  holy  Dove,  return ! 

Sweet  messenger  of  rest : 
I  hate  the  sins  that  made  thee  mourn, 

And  drove  thee  from  my  breast. 

The  dearest  idol  I  have  known, 

Whate'er  that  idol  be — 
Help  me  to  tear  it  from  thy  throne. 

And  worship  only  thee. 

So  shall  my  walk  be  close  with  God, 
Calm  and  serene  my  frame : 

So  purer  light  shall  mark  the  road 
That  leads  me  to  the  Lamb. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  35V 

JEHOVAH-JIEEH.     THE  LORD  WILL  PROVIDE. 
Gen.  xxii.  14. 

The  saints  should  never  be  dismay VI, 

Nor  sink  in  hopeless  fear ; 
For  when  they  least  expect  his  aid, 

The  Saviour  will  appear. 

This  Abraham  found :  he  raised  the  knife ; 

God  saw,  and  said,  ^'  Forbear ! 
Yon  ram  shall  yield  his  meaner  life; 

Behold  the  victim  there.'' 

Once  David  seemM  SauPs  certain  prey; 

But  hark!  the  foe's  at  hand ;^ 
Saul  turns  his  arms  another  wa}'. 

To  save  the  invaded  land. 

When  Jonah  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 

He  thought  to  rise  no  more  f 
But  God  prepared  a  fish  to  save, 

And  bear  him  to  the  shore. 

Blest  proofs  of  power  and  grace  divine 

That  meet  us  in  his  Word ! 
May  every  deep-felt  care  of  mine 

Be  trusted  with  the  Lord. 

Wait  for  his  seasonable  aid, 

And  though  it  tarr^^,  wait: 
The  promise  may  be  long  delay'd, 

But  cannot  come  too  late. 


JEHOVAH-ROPHL  I  AM  THE  LORD  THAT 
HEALETH  THEE.— Ex.  xv.  26. 

Heal  us,  Emmanuel — here  we  are. 

Waiting  to  feel  thy  touch : 
Deep-wounded  souls  to  thee  repair. 

And,  Saviour,  we  are  such. 

Our  faith  is  feeble,  we  confess, 

We  faintly  trust  thy  word ; 
I  1  Samuel  xsiii.  27.  2  jonali  i.  17. 


358  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

But  wilt  thou  pity  us  the  less  ? 
Be  that  far  from  thee,  Lord ! 

Remember  him  who  once  applied, 
With  trembling,  for  relief ; 

''  Lord,  I  believe,"  with  tears  he  cried,* 
^'Oh,  help  my  unbehef !" 

She  too,  who  touch'd  thee  in  the  press. 

And  healing  virtue  stole, 
"VVas  answered,  ''  Daughter,  go  in  peace,^ 

Thy  faith  hath  made  thee  whole." 

Conceal'd  amid  the  gathering  throng. 
She  would  have  shunn'd  thy  view  ; 

And  if  her  faith  was  firm  and  strong, 
Had  strong  misgivings  too. 

Like  her,  with  hopes  and  fears  we  come, 
To  touch  thee,  if  we  may ; 

Oh !  send  us  not  despairing  home, 
Send  none  unheaFd  away. 


IV.    JEHOYAH-NISSL    THE  LORD  MY  BANNER. 
Ex.  xvii.  15. 

By  whom  was  David  taught 

To  aim  the  deadly  blow. 
When  he  Goliath  fought. 
And  laid  the  Gittite  low  ? 
'Nov  sword  noj  spear  the  stripling  took, 
But  chose  a  pebble  from  the  brook. 

'Twas  Israel's  God  and  King 
Who  sent  him  to  the  light ; 
Who  gave  him  strength  to  sling. 
And  skill  to  aim  aright. 
Ye  feeble  saints,  your  strength  endures, 
Because  young  David's  God  is  yours. 

Who  order'd  Gideon  forth. 
To  storm  the  invader's  camp, 

1  Mark  ix.  24.  2  Mark  v.  84. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  359 

"With  arms  of  little  worth, 
A  pitcher  and  a  lamp  ?^ 
The  trumpets  made,  his  coming  known, 
And  all  the  host  was  overthrown. 

Oh !  I  have  seen  the  day, 

When,  with  a  single  word, 
God  helping  me  to  say. 
My  trust  is  in  the  Lord, 
My  soul  hath  quell'd  a  thousand  foes, 
Fearless  of  all  that  could  oppose. 

But  unbelief,  self-will. 

Self-righteousness,  and  pride — 
IIow  often  do  they  steal 
My  weapon  from  my  side ! 
Yet  David's  Lord,  and  Gideon's  Friend, 
Will  help  his  servant  to  the  end. 


JEHOVAH-SHALOM.     THE  LORD  SEND  PEACE. 
JuDG.  vi.  24. 

Jesus,  Avhose  blood  so  freely  stream'd. 

To  satisfy  the  law's  demand ; 
By  thee  from  guilt  and  wrath  redeem'd, 

Before  the  Father's  face  I  stand. 

To  reconcile  offending  man. 

Make  Justice  drop  her  angry  rod ; 
What  creature  could  have  forni'd  the  plan, 

Or  who  fulfil  it,  but  a  God? 

'No  drop  remains  of  all  the  curse, 

For  wretches  who  deserve  the  whole ; 

No  arrows  dipt  in  wrath  to  pierce 
The  guilty,  but  returning,  soul. 

Peace  by  such  means  so  dearly  bought, 
What  rebel  could  liave  hoped  to  see  ? 

Peace,  by  his  injured  Sovereign  wrought, 
His  Sovereign  fasten'd  to  a  tree. 

I  Judges  vii.  9,  20. 


360  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Now,  Lord,  thy  feeble  worm  prepare ! 

For  strife  with  earth  and  hell  begins; 
Confirm  and  gird  me  for  the  war — 

They  hate  the  soul  that  hates  his  sins. 

Let  them  in  horrid  league  agree ! 

They  may  assault,  they  may  distress ; 
But  cannot  quench  thy  love  to  me, 

]N"or  rob  me  of  the  Lord  my  peace. 


VL    WISDOM.— Prov.  viii.  22-31. 

Ere  God  had  built  the  mountains, 

Or  raised  the  fruitful  hills ; 
Before  he  fill'd  the  fountains 

That  feed  the  running  rills ; 
In  me,  from  everlasting. 

The  wonderful  I  AM 
Found  pleasures  never  wasting, 

And  AYisdom  is  my  name. 

When,  like  a  tent  to  dwell  in. 

He  spread  the  skies  abroad, 
And  swathed  about  the  swelling 

Of  Ocean's  mighty  flood  ; 
He  wrought  by  weight  and  measure, 

And  I  was  with  him  then : 
Myself  the  Father's  pleasure. 

And  mine  the  sons  of  men. 

Thus  Wisdom's  words  discover 

Thy  glory  and  thy  grace, 
Thou  everlasting  lover 

Of  our  unworthy  race ! 
Thy  gracious  eye  survey'd  us 

Ere  stars  were  seen  above; 
In  wisdom  thou  hast  made  us, 

And^  died  for  us  in  love. 

4-nd  couldst  thou  be  delighted 
With  creatures  such  as  we. 

Who,  when  we  saw  thee,  slighted, 
And  nail'd  thee  to  a  tree  ? 


OLNEV    HYMNS.  361 

Unfixthomablo  wonder, 

And  mystery  divine! 
The  voice  that  speaks  in  thunder, 

Says,  *' Sinner,  I  am  thine!" 


I.    VANITY  OF  THE  WOELD. 

God  gives  his  mercies  to  be  spent; 

Your  hoard,  will  do  your  soul  no  good ; 
Gold  is  a  blessing  only  lent, 

Repaid  by  giving  others  food. 

The  world's  esteem  is  but  a  bribe ; 

To  buy  their  peace  you  sell  your  own ; 
The  slave  of  a  vain-glorious  tribe, 

AVho  hate  you  while  they  make  you  known. 

The  joy  that  vain  amusements  give, 
Oh !  sad  conclusion  that  it  brings ! 

The  honey  of  a  crowded  hive. 
Defended  by  a  thousand  stings. 

'Tis  thus  the  world  rewards  the  fools 
That  live  upon  her  treacherous  smiles  : 

She  leads  them  bhndfold  by  her  rules. 
And  ruins  all  whom  she  beguiles. 

God  knows  the  thousands  who  go  down 
From  pleasure  into  endless  woe ; 

And  with  a  long  despairing  groan 
Blaspheme  their  Maker  as  they  go. 

O  fearful  thought!  be  timely  wise: 
Delight  but  in  a  Saviour's  charms, 

And  God  shall  take  you  to  the  skies, 
Embraced  in  evcrlastini?  arms. 


VIII.    0  LORD,  I  WILL  TRAISE  THEE.—Isa.  xii.  1. 

I  WILL  praise  thee  every  day, 
]N'ow  thine  anger's  turn'd  away! 
Comfortable  thoughts  arise 
From  the  bleeding  Sacrifice. 
81 


362  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Here  in  the  fair  Gospel  field, 
Wells  of  free  salvation  yield 
Streams  of  life,  a  plenteous  store, 
And  my  soul  shall  thirst  no  more. 

Jesus  is  become  at  length 
My  salvation  and  my  strength ;. 
And  his  praises  shall  prolong, 
"While  I  live,  my  pleasant  song. 

Praise  ye  then  his  glorious  name ; 
Publish  his  exalted  fame ! 
Still  his  worth  your  praise  exceeds ; 
Excellent  are  all  his  deeds. 

Kaise  again  the  joyful  sound, 
Let  the  nations  roll  it  round ! 
Zion,  shout,  for  this  is  he, 
God  the  Saviour  dwells  in  thee ! 


IX.    THE  CONTRITE  HEART.— Isa.  Ivii.  15, 

The  Lord  will  happiness  divine 
On  contrite  hearts  bestow ; 

Then  tell  me,  gracious  God,  is  mine 
A  contrite  heart  or  no  ? 

I  hear,  but  seem  to  hear  in  vain, 

Insensible  as  steel ; 
If  aught  is  felt,  'tis  only  pain 

To  find  I  cannot  feel. 

I  sometimes  think  myself  inclined 

To  love  thee,  if  I  could ; 
But  often  feel  another  mind, 

Averse  to  all  that's  good. 

My  best  desires  are  faint  and  few — 

I  fain  would  strive  for  more: 
But  when  I  cry,  "  My  strength  renew !" 

Seem  weaker  than  before. 
Thy  saints  are  comforted,  I  know, 

And  love  thy  house  of  prayer ; 
I  therefore  go  where  others  go, 

But  find  no  comfort  there. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  363 

Oh  make  this  heart  rejoice  or  ache  ; 

Decide  this  doubt  for  me ; 
And  if  it  be  not  broken,  break — 

And  heal  it  if  it  be. 


X.  THE  FUTURE  PEACE  AND  GLORY  OF  THE 
CHURCH.— ISA.  ix.  15-20. 

Hear  wliat  God  the  Lord  hath  spoken- 

''  O  my  people,  faint  and  few,  W 

Comfortless,  afflicted,  broken, 

Fair  abodes  I  build  for  you. 

Thorns  of  heart-felt  tribulation 

Shall  no  more  perplex  your  ways: 

You  shall  name  your  walls  Salv^ation, 

And  your  gates  shall  all  be  Praise. 

"  There,  like  streams  that  feed  the  garden, 
Pleasures  without  end  shall  flow;- 
For  the  Lord,  your  faith  rewarding, 
All  his  bounty  shall  bestow ; 
Still  in  undisturbed  possession 
Peace  and  righteousness  shall  reign , 
Never  shall  you  feel  oppression, 
Hear  the  voice  of  war  again. 

»"  Ye  no  more  your  suns  descending, 
Waning  moons  no  more  shall  see ; 
But,  your  griefs  forever  ending. 
Find  eternal  noon  in  me: 
God  shall  rise,  and  shining  o'er  you, 
Change  to  day  the  gloom  of  night ; 
He,  the  Lord,  shall  be  your  glory, 
God  your  everlasting  light." 


JEHOVAH  OUR  RIGHTEOUSNESS.— Jer.  xxiii.  6. 

My  God,  how  perfect  are  thy  ways ! 

But  mine  polluted  are ; 
Sin  twines  itself  about  my  praise. 

And  slides  into  my  prayer. 


364  cowper's  poetical  works. 

When  I  would  speak  what  tliou  hast  done 

To  save  nie  from  my  sin, 
I  cannot  make  tliy  mercies  known, 

But  self-applause  creeps  in. 

Divine  desire,  that  holy  flame 

Thy  grace  creates  in  me ; 
Alas !  impatience  is  its  name, 

When  it  returns  to  thee. 

This  heart,  a  fountain  of  vile  thoughts, 

How  does  it  overflow  ! 
While  self  upon  the  surface  floats, 

Still  hubbling  from  below. 

Let  others  in  the  gaudy  dress 

Of  fancied  merit  shine ; 
The  Lord  shall  be  my  righteousness, 

The  Lord  forever  mine. 


I 


XIL    EPHRAIM  REPENTING.— Jer.  xxxi.  18-20. 

My  God,  till  I  received  thy  stroke. 

How  like  a  beast  was  I ! 
So  unaccustomVl  to  the  yoke. 

So  backward  to  comply. 

With  grief  my  just  reproach  I  bear, 
Shame  fills  me  at  the  thought ; 

How  frequent  my  rebellions  were ! 
What  wickedness  1  wrought! 

Thy  merciful  restraint  I  scorn'd, 

And  left  the  j)leasant  road  ; 
Yet  turn  me,  and  I  shall  be  turn'd ! 

Thou  art  the  Lord  my  God. 

''  Is  Ephraim  banish'd  from  my  thoughts, 

Or.  vile  in  my  esteem? 
No,"  saith  the  Lord,  ''with  all  his  faults, 

1  still  remember  him. 

"  Is  he  a  dear  and  pleasant  child  ? 
Yes,  dear  and  pleasant  still ; 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  3G5 

Though  sin  liis  foolisli  heart  beguiled, 
And  he  withstood  my  will. 

"My  sharp  rebuke  has  laid  him  low, 

He  seeks  my  face  again  ;     ■ 
My  pity  kindles  at  his  woe, 

He  shall  not  seek  in  vain," 


Xni.    THE  COVENANT.—EzEK.  xxxvi.  25-28. 

The  Lord  proclaims  his  grace  abroad ! 
Behold,  I  change  your  hearts  of  stone ; 
Each  shall  renounce  his  idol -god, 
And  serve,  henceforth,  the  Lord  alone. 

My  grace,  a  flowing  stream,  proceeds 
To  wash  your  filthiness  aw^ay ; 
Ye  shall  abhor  your  former  deeds, 
And  learn  my  statutes  to  obey. 

My  truth  the  great  design  insures, 
I  give  myself  away  to  you  ; 
You  shall  be  mine,  I  will  be  yours, 
Your  God  unalterably  true. 

Yet  not  unsought,  or  unimplored. 

The  plenteous  grace  shall  I  confer;* 

No — your  wliole  hearts  shall  seek  the  Lord, 

I'll  put  a  praying  spirit  there. 

From  the  first  breath  of  life  divine, 
Down  to  tlie  last  expiring  hour. 
The  gracious  work  shall  all  be  mine, 
Begun  and  ended  in  my  power. 


XIV.    JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH.— EzEK.  xlviii.  35. 

As  birds  their  infant  brood  protect," 
And  spread  their  wings  to  shelter  them, 
Thus  saiththe  Lord  to  his  elect, 
*'  So  will  I  guard  Jerusalem." 

1  Verse  3L  «  Isaiah  xxxL  5. 


366  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  what  tlien  is  Jerusalem, 
This  darling  object  of  his  care? 
Where  is  its  worth  in  God's  esteem? 
Who  built  it,  who  inhabits  there? 

Jehovah  founded  it  in  blood, 
The  blood  of  his  incarnate  Son  ; 
There  dwell  the  saints,  once  foes  to  God, 
The  sinners  whom  he  calls  his  own. 

There,  though  besieged  on  every  side, 
Yet  much  beloved  and  guarded  well. 
From  age  to  age  tliey  have  defied 
The  utmost  force  of  earth  and  hell. 

Let  earth  repent,  and  hell  despair, 
This  city  has  a  sure  defence ; 
Her  name  is  call'd  The  Lord  is  there, 
And  who  has  power  to  drive  him  thence? 


XV.    PRAISE  FOR  THE  FOUNTAIN  OPENED. 
Zech.  xiii.  1. 

There  is  a  fountain  filPd  with  blood 
Drawn  from  Emmanuel's  veins ; 

And  sinners,  plunged  beneath  that  flood. 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains. 

The  dying  thief  rejoiced  to  see 

That  fountain  in  his  day; 
And  there  have  I,  as  vile  as  he, 

Wash'd  all  my  sins  away. 

Dear  dying  Lamb,  thy  precious  blood 

Shall  never  lose  its  power. 
Till  all  the  ransom VI  Church  of  God 

Be  saved,  to  sin  no  more. 

E'er  since,  by  faith,  I  saw  the  stream 

Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme, 

And  shall  be  till  I  die. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  36*7 

Then  in  a  nobler,  SAveeter  song, 

I'll  sing  thy  power  to  save; 
When  this  poor,  lisping,  stammering  tongue 

Lies  silent  in  the  grave. 

Lord,  I  believe  thou  hast  prepared 

(Unworthy  though  I  be) 
For  me  a  blood-bought  free  reward, 

A  golden  harp  for  me ! 

'Tis  strung,  and  tuned,  for  endless  years, 

And  form'd  by  power  divine. 
To  sound  in  God  the  Father's  ears 

No  other  name  but  thine. 


XVL    THE  SOWER.— Mat.  xiii.  3. 

Ye  sons  of  earth,  prepare  the  plough, 
Break  up  your  falloAV  ground ; 

The  sower  is  gone  forth  to  soav, 
And  scatter  blessings  round. 

The  seed  that  finds  a  stony  soil, 

Shoots  forth  a  hasty  blade ; 
But  ill  repays  the  sower's  toil. 

Soon  wither'd,  scorch'd,  and  dead. 

The  tliorny  ground  is  sure  to  balk 

All  liopes  of  harvest  there; 
We  find  a  tall  and  sickly  stalk, 

But  not  tlie  fruitful  ear. 

The  beaten  path  and  highway  side 

Receive  the  trust  in  vain ; 
The  watchful  birds  the  spoil  divide. 

And  pick  up  all  the  grain. 

But  where  the  Lord  of  grace  and  power 

Has  bless'd  the  happy  field. 
How  plenteous  is  the  golden  store 

The  deep- wrought  furrows  yield ! 

Father  of  mercies,  we  have  need 

Of  thy  preparing  grace ; 
Let  the  same  hand  that  gives  the  seed 

Provide  a  fruitful  place  I 


COWPER  S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XVII.    THE  HOUSE  OF  PRAYER.— Mark  xi.  17. 

Thy  mansion  is  the  Christian's  heart, 

0  Lord,  thy  dwelling-place  secure ! 
Bid  the  unruly  throng  depart. 

And  leave  the  consecrat'^d  door. 

Devoted  as  it  is  to  thee, 

A  thievish  swarm  frequents  the  place ; 
They  steal  away  my  joys  from  me, 

And  rob  my  Saviour  of  his  praise. 

There,  too,  a  sharp  designing  trade 
Sin,  Satan,  and.  the  World  maintain ; 

Nor  cease  to  press  me,  and.  persuade 
To  part  with  ease,  and  purchase  pain. 

I  know  them,  and  I  hate  their  din. 

Am  weary  of  the  bustling  crowd ; 
But  while  their  voice  is  heard  within, 

1  cannot  serve  thee  as  I  would. 

Oh  for  the  joy  thy  presence  gives ! 

What  peace  shall  reign  when  thou  art  here: 
Thy  presence  makes  this  den  of  thieves 

A  calm  delightful  house  of  prayer. 

And  if  thou  make  thy  temple  shine, 

Yet,  self-abased,  will  I  adore ; 
The  gold  and  silver  are  not  mine, 

I  give  thee  what  was  thine  before. 


XVIII.    LOVEST  THOU  ME?— John  xxi.  16. 

Hark,  my  soul !  it  is  the  Lord : 
'Tis  thy  Saviour,  hear  his  word ; 
Jesus  speaks,  and  speaks  to  thee : 
"  Say,  poor  sinner,  lovest  thou  me  ? 

"  I  delivered  thee  when  bound. 
And  when  bleeding,  heal'd  thy  wound ; 
Sought  thee  wandering,  set  thee  right, 
Turn'd  thy  darkness  into  light. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  369 

"  Can  a  woman's  tender  care 
Cease  towards  the  child  she  bare  ? 
Yes,  she  may  forgetful  be, 
Yet  will  I  remember  tjiee. 

"Mine  is  an  unchanging  love, 
Higher  than  the  heights  above ; 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath, 
Free  and  faithful,  strong  as  death. 

"  Thou  shalt  see  my  glory  soon, 
"When  the  work  of  grace  is  done ; 
Partner  of  my  throne  shalt  be : — 
Say,  poor  sinner,  lovest  thou  me !" 

Lord,  it  is  my  chief  complaint, 
That  my  love  is  weak  and  faint ; 
Yet  I  love  thee  and  adore, — 
Oh  for  grace  to  love  thee  more ! 


XIX.    CONTENTMENT.— Phil.  iv.  11. 

Fierce  passions  discompose  the  mind, 

As  tempests  vex  the  sea  : 
But  calm  content  and  peace  we  find, 

When,  Lord,  we  turn  to  thee. 

In  vain  by  reason  and  by  rule 

"We  try  to  bend  the  Avill ; 
For  none  but  in  the  Saviour's  school 

Can  learn  the  heavenly  skill. 

Since  at  his  feet  my  soul  has  sate, 

His  gracious  words  to  hear. 
Contented  with  my  present  state, 

I  cast  on  him  my  care. 

"Art  thou  a  sinner,  soul?"  he  said, 
"  Then  how  canst  thou  complain  ? 

How  light  thy  troubles  here,  if  weigh'd 
With  everlasting  pain ! 

"If  thou  of  murmuring  wouldst  be  cured, 
Compare  thy  griefs  with  mine ; 

Think  what  my  love  for  thee  endured, 
And  thou  wilt  not  repine. 


370  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"  'Tis  I  appoint  thy  daily  lot, 

And  I  do  all  things  well ; 
Thou  soon  shalt  leave  this  wretched  spot, 

And  rise,  with  me  to  dwell. 

"  In  life  my  grace  shall  strength  supply, 

Proportion'd  to  thy  day ; 
At  death  thou  still  shalt  find  me  nigh, 

To  wipe  thy  tears  away." 

Thus  I,  who  once  my  wretched  days 

In  vain  repinings  spent, 
Taught  in  my  Saviour's  school  of  grace, 

Have  learnt  to  be  content. 


XX.    OLD  TESTAMENT  GOSPEL.— Heb.  iv.  2. 

Israel,  in  ancient  days, 
Not  only  had  a  view 
Of  Sinai  in  a  blaze. 

But  learn'd  the  Gospel  too ; 
The  types  and  figures  were  a  glass 
In  which  they  saw  a  Saviour's  face. 

The  paschal  sacrifice, 

And  blood-besprinkled  door,* 
Seen  with  enlighten'd  eyes. 
And  once  applied  with  power, 
Would  teach  the  need  of  other  blood, 
To  reconcile  an  angry  God. 

The  Lamb,  the  Dove,  set  forth 

His  perfect  innocence,'^ 
"Whose  blood  of  matchless  worth 
Should  be  the  soul's  defence ; 
For  he  who  can  for  sin  atone. 
Must  have  no  faihngs  of  his  own.  . 

The  scape-goat  on  his  head^ 
Tlie  people's  trespass  bore. 
And,  to  the  desert  led. 
Was  to  be  seen  no  more : 
In  him  our  Surety  seem'd  to  say, 
••'  Behold,  I  bear  your  sins  away." 
1  Exodus  xii.  13.  2  Levit.  xii.  6.  s  Levit.  xvi.  21. 


OLNEr    HYMNS.  37 1 

Dipt  in  his  fellow's  blood, 

The  living  bird  went  free  ;* 
The  type,  well  understood, 
Expressed  the  sinner^s  plea ; 
Described  a  guilty  soul  enlarged, 
And  by  a  Saviour's  death  discharged. 

Jesus,  I  love  to  trace, 

Throughout  the  sacred  page, 
The  footsteps  of  thy  grace. 
The  same  in  every  age ! 
Oh,  grant  that  I  may  faithful  be 
To  clearer  light  vouchsafed  to  me ! 


XXL    SARDIS.—Rev.  iii.  1-6. 

"  "Weite  to  Sardis,"  saith  the  Lord, 

And  write  what  he  declares. 
He  whose  Spirit,  and  whose  word, 

Uphold  the  seven  stars : 
''  All  thy  works  and  ways  I  search, 

Find  thy  zeal  and  love  decay'd : 
Thou  art  call'd  a  living  church. 

But  thou  art  cold  and  dead. 

"  "Watch,  remember,  seek,  and  strive ; 

Exert  thy  former  pains ; 
Let  thy  timely  care  revive, 

And  strengthen  what  remains : 
Cleanse  thine  heart,  thy  works  amend, 

Former  times  to  mind  recall ; 
Lest  my  sudden  stroke  descend. 

And  smite  thee  once  for  all. 

"  Yet  I  number  now  in  thee 

A  few  that  are  upright ; 
These  my  Father's  face  shall  see, 

And  walk  with  me  in  white. 
When  in  judgment  I  appear. 

They  for  mine  shall  be  confest; 
Let  my  faithful  servants  hear. 

And  woe  be  to  the  rest!" 

1  Leviticus  xiv.  51-53. 


372  COWPEll's    POETICAL  WORKS. 

XXII.  PRAYER  FOR  A  BLESSING  ON  THE  YOUNG.  1 

Bestow,  clear  Lord,  upon  our  youth 

The  gift  of  saving  grace  ; 
And  let  the  seed  of  sacred  truth 

Fall  in  a  fruitful  place. 

Grace  is  a  plant,  where'er  it  grows, 

Of  pure  and  heavenly  root ; 
But  fairest  in  the  youngest  shows, 

And  yields  the  sweetest  fruit. 

Ye  careless  ones,  oh  hear  betimes 

The  voice  of  sovereign  love ! 
Y^our  youth  is  stain'd  with  many  crimes. 

But  mercy  reigns  above. 

True,  you  are  young,  but  there's  a  stone 

Within  the  youngest  breast; 
Or  half  the  crimes  which  you  have  done 

Would  rob  you  of  your  rest. 

For  you  the  public  prayer  is  made. 

Oh!  join  the  public  prayer! 
For  you  the  secret  tear  is  shed, 

Oh !  shed  yourselves  a  tear ! 

We  pray  that  you  may  early  prove 

The  Spirit's  power  to  teach ; 
Y^ou  cannot  be  too  young  to  love 

That  Jesus  whom  we  preach. 


XXIL    PLEADING  FOR  AND  WITH  YOUTH. 

Sin  has  undone  our  wretched  race, 

But  Jesus  has  restored. 
And  brought  the  sinner  face  to  face 

With  his  forgiving  Lord. 

This  we  repeat  from  year  to  year, 

And  press  upon  our  youth ; 
Lord,  give  them  an  attentive  ear, 

Lord,  save  them  by  thy  truth  I 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  373 

Blessings  upon  the  rising  race  I 

Make  tliis  a  happy  hour, 
According  to  thy  richest  grace, 

And  thine  ahnighty  power. 

We  feel  for  your  unhappy  state 

(May  you  regard  it  too), 
And  would  awhile  ourselves  forget, 

To  pour  out  prayer  for  you. 

"We  see,  though  you  perceive  it  not, 

The  approaching  awful  doom ; 
Oh,  tremhle  at  the  solemn  thought, 

And  flee  the  wrath  to  come ! 

Dear  Saviour,  let  this  new-born  year 

Spread  an  alarm  abroad ; 
And  cry  in  every  careless  ear, 

*' Prepare  to  meet  thy  God  !" 


XXIV.    PRAYER  FOR  CHILDREN, 

Geacious  Lord,  our  children  see : 
By  thy  mercy  we  are  free ; 
But  sliall  these,  alas  !  remain 
Subjects  still  of  Satan's  reign  ? 
Israel's  young  ones,  when  of  old 
Pharaoh  threaten'd  to  withhold,^ 
Then  thy  messenger  said,  ''  No ; 
Let  the  children  also  go." 

Wlien  the  angel  of  the  Lord, 
Drawing  forth  his  dreadful  sword. 
Slew,  witli  an  avenging  hand. 
All  the  first-born  of  the  land  ;^ 
Then  thy  people's  doors  he  pass'd. 
Where  the  bloody  sign  was  placed ; 
Hear  us,  now,  upon  our  knees. 
Plead  the  blood  of  Christ  for  these ! 

Lord,  we  tremble,  for  we  know 
How  the  fierce  malicious  foe, 

1  Exodus  X.  9.  2  Exodus  xii.  12. 

32 


374  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Wheeling  round  his  watchful  flight, 
Keeps 4:hem  ever  in  his  sight: 
Spread  thy  pinions,  King  of  kings! 
Hide  them  safe  beneath  thy  wings; 
Lest  the  ravenous  bird  of  prey 
Stoop,  and  bear  the  brood  away. 


XXV.    JEHOVAH  JESUS. 

My  song  shall  bless  the  Lord  of  all, 
My  praise  shall  climb  to  his  abode ; 

Thee,  Saviour,  by  that  name  I  call. 
The  great  Supreme,  the  mighty  God 

Without  beginning  or  decline, 
Object  of  faith,  and  not  of  sense; 

Eternal  ages  saw  him  shine, 
He  shines  eternal  ages  hence. 

As  much,  when  in  the  manger  laid, 

Almighty  ruler  of  the  sky. 
As  when  the  six  days'  work  he  made 

Fiird  all  the  morning  stars  with  joy. 

Of  all  the  crowns  Jehovah  bears. 
Salvation  is  his  dearest  claim ; 

That  gracious  sound  well  pleased  he  hears, 
And  owns  Emmanuel  for  his  name. 

A  cheerful  confidence  I  feel. 

My  well-placed  hopes  with  joy  I  see ; 
My  bosom  glows  with  heavenly  zeal. 

To  worship  Him  who  died  for  me. 

As  Man,  he  pities  my  complaint. 
His  power  nnd  truth  are  all  divine ; 

He  will  not  fail,  he  cannot  faint. 
Salvation's  sure,  and  must  be  mine. 


XXVI.    ON  OPENING  A  PLACE  FOR  SOCIAL  PRAYER. 

Jesus!  where'er  thy  people  meet. 
There  they  behold  thy  mercy-seat ; 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  Si O 

Where'er  tliey  seek  thee,  thou  art  foiinc!, 
And  every  place  is  hallow'd  ground. 

For  thou,  within  no  walls  confined, 
Inhabitest  the  humble  mind ; 
Such  ever  bring  thee  where  they  come. 
And  going,  take  thee  to  their  home. 

Dear  Shepherd  of  thy  chosen  few! 
Thy  former  mercies  here  renew ; 
Here  to  our  waiting  hearts  proclaim 
The  sweetness  of  tliy  saving  name. 

Here  may  we  prove  the  power  of  prayer, 
To  strengthen  faith  and  sweeten  care ; 
To  teach  our  faint  desires  to  rise. 
And  bring  all  heaven  before  our  eyes.* 

Behold,  at  thy  commanding  word 
We  stretch  the  curtain  and  the  cord;'' 
Come  thou  and  fill  this  wider  space, 
And  bless  us  with  a  large  increase. 

Lord,  we  are  few,  but  thou  art  near ; 
Nor  short  thine  arm,  nor  deaf  thine  ear ; 
Oh,  rend  the  heavens,  come  quickly  down, 
And  make  a  thousand  hearts  tiiine  own  I 


XXVn.    WELCOME  TO  THE  TABLE. 

This  is  the  feast  of  heavenly  wine, 

And  God  invites  to  sup ; 
The  juices  of  the  living  Vine 

Were  press'd  to  fill  the  cup. 

Oh  ]  bless  the  Saviour,  ye  that  eat. 

With  royal  dainties  fed  ; 
Not  heaven  affords  a  costlier  treat, 

For  Jesus  is  the  bread. 

The  vile,  the  lost,  he  calls  to  them, 
Ye  trembling  souls,  appear ! 

1  "  Bring  all  heaven  before  our  eyes :"  from  Milton's  "  11  Penseroso.'" 

2  Isaiali  liv.  2. 


376,  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  righteous  in  their  own  esteem 
Have  no  acceptance  here. 

Aj^proach,  ye  poor,  nor  dare  refuse 
The  banquet  spread  for  you ; 

Dear  Saviour,  this  is  welcome  news, 
Then  I  may  venture  too. 

If  guilt  and  sin  afford  a  plea, 
And  may  obtain  a  place. 

Surely  the  Lord  will  welcome  me, 
And  I  shall  see  his  face. 


XXYIII.    JESUS  HASTING  TO  SUFFER. 

The  Saviour,  what  a  noble  flame 

Was  kindled  in  his  breast, 
"When  hasting  to  Jerusalem, 

He  march'd  before  the  rest ! 

Good-will  to  men  and  zeal  for  God 

His  every  thought  engross ; 
He  longs  to  be  baptized  with  blood,* 

He  pants  to  reach  the  cross ! 

With  all  his  sufferings  full  in  view, 

And  woes  to  us  unknown, 
Forth  to  the  task  his  spirit  flew ; 

'Twas  love  that  urged  him  on. 

Lord,  we  return  thee  what  we  can : 
Our  hearts  shall  sound  abroad 

Salvation  to  the  dying  Man, 
And  to  the  rising  God ! 

And  while  thy  bleeding  glories  here 

Engage  our  wondering  eyes. 
We  learn  our  lighter  cross  to  bear, 

And  hasten  to  the  skies. 

1  Luke  xii.  50. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  3*77 


XXIX.    EXHORTATION  TO  PRAYER. 

What  various  lijndrances  we  meet 

In  coming  to  a  indr6'y^seat ! 

Yet  who  that  knows  the  worth  of  prayer, 

But  wishes  to  be  often  there  ? 

Prayer  makes  the  darkened  cloud  withdraw, 
Prayer  chmbs  tlie  ladder  Jacob  saw, 
Gives  exercise  to  faith  and  love. 
Brings  every  blessing  from  above. 

Eestraining  prayer,  w^e  cease  to  fight ; 
Prayer  makes  the  Christian's  armor  bright ; 
And  Satan  trembles  whefn  he  sees 
The  weakest  saint  upon  his  knees. 

"While  Moses  stood  with  arms  spread  wide, 
Success  was  found  on  Israel's  side; 
But  when  through  weariness  they  fail'd. 
That  moment  Amalek  prevaiPd.^ 

Have  you  no  words  ?     Ah !  think  again, 
Words  flow  apace  when  you  complain, 
And  fill  your  fellow-creature's  ear 
With  the  sad  tale  of  all  your  care. 

Were  half  the  breath  thus  vainly  spent 
To  Heaven  in  supplication  sent. 
Your  cheerful  song  would  oftener  bo, 
"Hear  what  the  Lord  has  done  for  me!'' 


XXX.    THE  LIGHT  AND  GLORY  OF  THE  WORD. 

The  Spirit  breathes  upon  the  AYord, 

And  brings  the  truth  to  sight ; 
Precepts  and  promises  afford 

A  sanctifying  light. 

A  glory  gilds  the  sacred  page, 

Majestic  like  the  sun ; 
It  gives  a  light  to  every  age. 

It  gives,  but  borrows  none. 

1  Exodus  xvii.  11. 


3'78  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  hand  that  gave  it  still  supplies 
The  gracious  light  and  heat ; 

His  truths  upon  the  nations  rise ; 
They  rise,  but  never  set. 

Let  everlasting  thanks  be  thine, 
For  such  a  bright  display, 

As  makes  a  world  of  darkness  shine 
"With  beams  of  heavenly  day. 

My  soul  rejoices  to  pursue 
The  steps  of  Him  I  love, 

Till  glory  breaks  upon  my  view 
In  brighter  worlds  above. 


^ 


XXXI.    ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MINISTER. 

His  master  taken  from  his  head, 

Elisha  saw  him  go ; 
And  in  desponding  accents  said, 

"  Ah,  what  must  Israel  do  V 

But  he  forgot  the  Lord  who  lifts 

The  beggar  to  the  throne ; 
Nor  knew  that  all  Elijah's  gifts 

Will  soon  be  made  his  own. 

What !  when  a  Paul  has  run  his  course, 

Or  when  Apollos  dies. 
Is  Israel  left  without  resource  ? 

And  have  we  no  supplies  ? 

Yes,  while  the  dear  Redeemer  lives 

We  have  a  boundless  store. 
And  shall  be  fed  with  what  he  gives, 

Who  lives  for  evermore. 


XXXII.    THE  SHINING  LIGHT. 

My  former  hopes  are  fled. 

My  terror  now  begins ; 
I  feel,  alas  !  that  I  am  dead 

In  trespasses  and  sins. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  379 

Ah,  whither  shall  I  fly? 

I  hear  the  thunder  roar ; 
The  law  proclaims  destruction  nigh, 

And  vengeance  at  the  door. 

When  I  review  my  ways, 

I  dread  impending  doom : 
But  sure  a  friendly  whisper  says, 

"Flee  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

I  see,  or  think.  I  see, 

A  glimmering  from  afar ; 
A  beam  of  day,  that  shines  for  me, 

To  save  me  from  despair. 

Forerunner  of  the  sun,^ 

It  marks  the  pilgrim's  way; 
I'll  gaze  upon  it  while  I  run, 

And  watch  the  rising  day. 


XXXIII.    SEEKING  THE  BELOVED. 

To  those  who  know  the  Lord  I  speak, 

Is  my  Beloved  near  ? 
The  Bridegroom  of  my  soul  I  seek. 

Oh !  when  will  he  appear  ? 

Though  once  a  man  of  grief  and  shame. 

Yet  now  he  fills  a  throne. 
And  bears  the  greatest,  sweetest  name, 

That  earth  or  heaven  has  known. 

Grace  flies  before,  and  love  attends 

His  steps  where'er  he  goes ; 
Though  none  can  see  him  but  his  friends. 

And  they  were  once  his  foes. 

He  speaks — obedient  to  his  call. 

Our  warm  affections  move : 
Did  he  but  shine  alike  on  all, 

Then  all  alike  would  love. 

1  Psalm  cxxx.  6. 


380  c.owper's  poetical  works. 

Then  love  in  every  heart  would  reign, 
And  war  would  cease  to  roar ; 

And  cruel  and  bloodthirsty  men 
Would  thirst  for  blood  no  more. 

Such  Jesus  is,  and  such  his  grace. 
Oh,  may  he  shine  on  you ! 

And  tell  him,  when  you  see  his  face. 
I  long  to  see  him  too.^ 


XXXIV.    THE  WAITING  SOUL. 

Beeatiie  from  the  gentle  south,  O  Lord, 
And  cheer  me  from  the  north ; 

Blow  on  the  treasures  of  thy  Word, 
And  call  the  spices  forth  ! 

I  wish,  thou  know'st,  to  be  resigned. 
And  wait  with  patient  hope; 

But  hope  delayM  fatigues  the  mind, 
And  drinks  the  spirit  up. 

Help  me  to  reach  the  distant  goal. 

Confirm  my  feeble  knee ; 
Pity  the  sickness  of  a  soul 

That  faints  for  love  of  thee ! 

Cold  as  I  feel  this  heart  of  mine. 

Yet,  since  Ffeel  it  so, 
It  yields  some  hope  of  life  divine 

Within,  however  low. 

1  seem  forsaken  and  alone, 

1  hear  the  lion  roar ; 
And  every  door  is  shut  but  one, 

And  that  is  Mercy's  door. 

There,  till  the  dear  Deliverer  come, 
I'll  wait  with  humble  prayer  ; 

And  when  he  calls  his  exile  home, 
The  Lord  shall  find  me  there. 

^  Canticles  v.  8. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  381 


XXXV.    WELCOME  CROSS. 

'Tis  my  happiness  below 

Not  to  live  without  the  cross, 
But  the  Saviour's  power  to  know, 

Sanctifying  every  loss : 
Trials  must  and  will  befall ; 

But  with  humble  faith  to  see 
Love  inscribed  upon  them  all, 

This  is  happiness  to  me. 

God  in  Israel  sows  the  seeds 

Of  affliction,  pain,  and  toil ; 
These  spring  up  and  choke  the  weeds 

Which  would  else  o'ersi)read  the  soil : 
Trials  make  the  promise  sweet. 

Trials  give  new  life  to  prayer ; 
Trials  bring  me  to  His  feet. 

Lay  me  low,  and  keep  me  there. 

Did  I  meet  no  trials  here. 

No  chastisement  by  the  way : 
Might  I  not,  with  reason,  fear 

I  should  prove  a  castaway  ? 
Bastards  may  escape  the  rod,^ 

Sunk  in  earthly,  vain  delight; 
But  the  true-born  child  of  God 

Must  not,  would  not  if  he  might. 


XXXVI.    AFFLICTIONS  SANCTIFIED  BY  THE  WORD. 

On  how  I  love  thy  holy  Word, 
Thy  gracious  covenant,  O  Lord ! 
It  guides  me  in  the  peaceful  way; 
I  think  upon  it  all  the  day. 

What  are  the  mines  of  shining  wealth. 
The  strength  of  youth,  the  bloom  of  health ! 
What  are  all  joys  compared  with  those 
Thine  everlasting  Word  bestows! 

1  Hebrews  xii.  8.' 


882  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Long  unafflicted,  undismay'd, 
In  pleasure's  path  secure  I  stray'd ; 
Thou  madest  nie  feel  tliy  chastening  rod/ 
And  straight  I  turned  unto  my  God. 

"VVliat  though  it  pierced  my  fainting  heart, 
I  bless  thine  hand  that  caused  t?ie  smart ; 
It  taught  my  tears  awhile  to  flow, 
But  saved  me  from  eternal  woe. 

Oh !  hadst  thou  left  me  unchastised, 
Thy  precept  I  had  still  despised ; 
And  still  the  snare  in  secret  laid. 
Had  my  unwary  feet  betray'd. 

I  love  thee,  therefore,  0  my  God, 
And  breathe  towards  thy  dear  abode ; 
"Where,  in  thy  presence  fully  blest. 
Thy  chosen  saints  forever  rest. 


X^XVII.    TEMPTATION. 

The  billoAvs  swell,  the  winds  aro  high, 
Clouds  overcast  my  wintry  sky ; 
Out  of  the  depths  to  thee  I  call, — 
My  fears  are  great,  my  strength  is  small. 

O  Lord,  the  pilot's  part  perform, 
And  guard  and  guide  me  through  the  storm, 
•  Defend  me  from  each  threatening  ill, 
Control  the  waves, — say,  ''Peace,  be  still!" 

Amidst  the  roaring  of  the  sea, 
My  soul  still  hangs  her  hope  on  thee ; 
Thy  constant  love,  thy  faithful  care. 
Is  all  that  saves  me  from  despair. 

Dangers  of  every  shape  and  name 
Attend  the  followers  of  the  Lamb, 
Who  leave  the  world's  deceitful  shore, 
And  leave  it  to  return  no  more. 

1  Psalm  cxix  71. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  383 

Thougli  tempest-toss'd  and  half  a  wreck, 
My  Saviour  tlirongh  the  floods  I  seek ; 
Let  neither  winds  nor  stormy  main 
Force  back  my  shatter'd  bark  again. 


XXXVIII.    LOOKING  UPWARDS  IN  A  STORM. 

God  of  my  life,  to  thee  I  call, 
Afflicted  at  tliy  feet  I  fall ; 
When  the  great  water-floods  prevail,* 
Leave  not  my  trembling  heart  to  fail ! 

Friend  of  the  friendless  and  the  faint ! 
Where  should  I  lodge  my  deep  complaint? 
Where  but  with  thee,,  whose  open  door 
Invites  the  helpless  and  the  poor ! 

Did  ever  mourner  plead  with  thee. 
And  thou  refuse  that  mourner's  plea  ? 
Does  not  the  word  still  flxM  remain. 
That  none  shall  seek  thy  face  in  vain? 

That  were  a  grief  I  could  not  bear, 
Didst  thou  not  hear  and  answer  prayer ; 
Bnt  a  prayer-hearing,  answering  God, 
Supports  me  under  every  load. 

Fair  is  the  lot  that's  cast  for  me; 
I  have  an  Advocate  with  thee ; 
They  whom  the  world  caresses  most 
Have  no  such  privilege  to  boast. 

Poor  though  I  am,  despised,  forgot,'^ 
•  Yet  God,  my  God,  forgets  me  not: 
And  he  is  safe,  and  must  succeed. 
For  whom  the  Lord  vouchsafes  to  plead. 


XXXIX.    THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 

My  soul  is  sad,  and  much  dismay'd ; 
Sqc,  Lord,  what  legions  of  my  foes, 
1  Tsalm  Ixix.  15.  a  pgaim  xl.  17. 


384 


With  fierce  Apollyon  at  their  head, 
My  heavenly  pilgrimage  oppose ! 

See,  from  the  ever-burning  lake 
How  like  a  smoky  cloud  they  dse ! 

With  horrid  blasts  my  soul  they  shake, 
With  storms  of  blasphemies  and  lies. 

Their  fiery  arrows  reach  the  mark,* 
My  throbbing  heart  with  anguish  tear ; 

Each  lights  upon  a  kindred  spark, 
And  finds  abundant  fuel  there. 

I  hate  the  thought  that  wrongs  the  Lord; 

Oil !  I  would  drive  it  from  my  breast, 
With  thy  own  sharp  two-edged  sword. 

Far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west. 

Come^,  then,  and  chase  the  cruel  host. 
Heal  the  deep  wounds  I  have  received! 

IS^ov  let  the  powers  of  darkness  boast. 
That  I  am  foil'd,  and  thou  art  grieved ! 


XL.    PEACE  AFTER  A  STORM. 

AYhex  darkness  long  has  veil'd  my  mind, 
And  smiling  day  once  more  appears ; 

Then,  my  Kedeemer,  then  I  find 
The  folly  of  my  doubts  and  fears. 

Straight  I  upbraid  my  wandering  heart. 
And  blush  that  I  should  ever  be 

Thus  prone  to  act  so  base  a  part, 
Or  harbor  one  hard  thought  of  thee! 

Oh !  let  me  then  at  length  be  taught 
What  I  am  still  so  slow  to  learn ; 

That  God  is  Love,  and  changes  not. 
Nor  knows  the  shadow  of  a  turn. 

Sweet  truth,  and  easy  to  repeat ! 

But,  when  my  faith  is  sharply  tried, 
I  find  myself  a  learner  yet. 

Unskilful,  weak,  and  apt  to  slide. 

1  Ephesians  vi.  16. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  385 

But,  O  my  Lord,  one  look  from  thee 

Subdues  the  disobedient  will ; 
Drives  doubt  and  discontent  away, 

And  thy  rebellious  worm  is  still. 

Thou  art  as  ready  to  forgive 

As  I  am  ready  to  repine ; 
Thou,  therefore,  all  the  praise  receive ; 

Be  shame  and  self-abhorrence  mine. 


XLI.    MOURNING  AND  LONGING. 

The  Saviour  hides  his  face ! 
My  spirit  thirsts  to  prove 
Kenew'd  supplies  of  pardoning  grace, 
And  never-fading  love. 

The  favor'd  souls  who  know 
What  glories  shine  in  him, 
Pant  for  his  presence,  as  the  roe 
Pants  for  the  living  stream ! 

"What  trifles  tease  me  now ! 
They  swarm  like  summer  flies  ; 
They  cleave  to  every  thing  I  do, 
And  swim  before  my  eyes. 

How  dull  the  Sabbath-day, 
Witliout  the  Sabbath's  Lord! 
How  toilsome  then  to  sing  and  pray, 
And  wait  upon  the  Word ! 

Of  all  the  truths  I  hear. 
How  few  delight  my  taste ! 
I  glean  a  berry  here  and  there, 
But  mourn  the  vintage  past. 

Yet  let  me  (as  I  ought) 
Still  hope  to  be  supplied ; 
No  pleasure  else  is  worth  a  thought, 
Nor  shall  I  be  denied. 

Though  I  am  but  a  worm, 
Unworthy  of  his  care. 
The  Lord  will  my  desire  perform, 
And  grant  me  all  my  prayer. 
33 


386  cowper's  poetical  works. 


XLII.    SELF-ACQUAINTANCE. 

Dear  Lord!  accept  a  sinful  heart, 

"Which  of  itself  complains, 
And  mourns,  with  much  and  frequent  smart, 

The  evil  it  contains. 

There  fiery  seeds  of  anger  lurk, 

Which  often  hurt  my  frame ; 
And  wait  but  for  the  tempter's  work. 

To  fan  them  to  a  flame. 

Legality  holds  out  a  bribe 

To  purchase  life  from  Thee ; 
And  Discontent  would  fain  prescribe 

How  thou  shalt  deal  with  me. 

While  Unbelief  withstands  thy  grace, 

And  puts  the  mercy  by ; 
Presumption,  Avith  a  brow  of  brass. 

Says,  "  Give  me,  or  I  die." 

How  eager  are  my  thoughts  to  roam 

In  quest  of  what  they  love ! 
But  ah !  when  duty  calls  them  home, 

How  heavily  they  move ! 

Oh,  cleanse  me  in  a  Saviour's  blood, 

Transform  me  by  thy  power. 
And  make  me  thy  beloved  abode, 

And  let  me  roam  no  more. 


XLIII.    PRAYER  FOR  PATIENCE. 

Lord,  who  hast  suffer'd  all  for  me. 
My  peace  and  pardon  to  procure. 

The  lighter  cross  I  bear  for  thee, 
Help  me  with  patience  to  endure. 

The  storm  of  loud  repining  hush, 
I  would  in  humble  silence  mourn ; 

"Why  should  the  unburnt  though  burning  bush 
Be  angry  as  the  crackling  thorn? 


OLNEY    HY*MNS.  38'7 

Man  should  not  faint  at  thy  rebuke, 

Like  Joshua  falling  on  his  face,^ 
When  the  curst  thing  that  Achan  took 

Brought  Israel  into  just  disgrace. 

Perhaps  some  golden  wedge  suppressed, 

Some  secret  sin  offends  my  God ; 
Perhaps  that  Babylonish  vest, 

Self-righteousness,  provokes'the  rod. 

Ah !  were  I  buffeted  all  day, 

Mock'd,  crown'd  with  thorns,  and  spit  upon; 
I  yet  should  have  no  right  to  say. 

My  great  distress  is  mine  alone. 

Let  me  not  angrily  declare 

'No  pain  was  ever  sharp  like  mine ; 
Kor  murmur  at  the  cross  I  bear. 

But  rather  weep,  remembering  thine. 


XLIV.    SUBMISSION. 

O  LoED,  my  best  desire  fulfil. 

And  help  me  to  resign 
Life,  health,  and  comfort  to  thy  will, 

And  make  thy  pleasure  mine. 

Why  should  I  shrink  at  thy  command, 
Whose  love  forbids  my  fears? 

Or  tremble  at  the  gracious  hand 
That  wipes  away  my  tears  ? 

No,  let  me  rather  freely  yield 
What  most  I  prize  to  thee ; 

Who  never  hast  a  good  withheld, 
Or  wilt  withhold,  from  me. 

Thy  favor,  all  my  journey  through, 
Thou  art  engaged  to  grant ; 

What  else  I  want,  or  think  I  do, 
'Tis  better  still  to  want. 

Wisdom  and  mercy  guide  my  way — 
Shall  I  resist  them  both  ? 

1  Joshua  vii.  10,  11. 


388  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  poor  blind  creature  of  a  day, 
And  crush'd  before  the  motli ! 

But  ab !  my  inward  spirit  cries, 
Still  bind  me  to  thy  sway ; 

Else  the  next  cloud  that  veils  the  skies 
Drives  all  these  thoughts  away. 


XLV.    THE  HAPPY  CHANGE. 

How  blest  thy  creature  is,  0  God, 

When,  with  a  single  eye. 
He  views  the  lustre  of  thy  Word, 

*The  dayspring  from  on  high ! 

Through  all  the  storms  that  veil  the  skies, 

And  frown  on  earthly  things, 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness  he  eyes, 

With  healing  in  his  wings. 

Struck  by  that  light,  the  human  heart, 

A  ba'rren  soil  no  more. 
Sends  the  sweet  smell  of  grace  abroad 

AVhere  serpents  lurk'd  before.^ 

The  soul  a  dreary  province  once 

Of  Satan's  dark  domain, 
Feels  a  new  empire  formed  within, 

And  owns  a  heavenly  reign. 

The  glorious  orb,  whose  golden  beams 

The  fruitful  year  control. 
Since  first,  obedient  to  thy  word, 

He  started  from  the  goal. 

Has  cheer'd  the  nations  with  the  joys 

His  orient  rays  impart ; 
But,  Jesus,  'tis  thy  light  alone 

Can  shine  upon  the  heart. 

*  Isaiah  xxxv.  7. 


'^  i  ^^  Wit  '^ 


OLNEY  lkAs4l»»»J?i!Liyrt'   380 


XLVI.    RETIREMENT. 

Far  from  the  world,  O  Lord,  I  flee, 

From  strife  and  tumult  far ; 
From  scenes  where  Satan  wages  still 

His  most  successful  war. 

The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade, 
With  prayer  and  praise  agree ; 

And  seem  by  thy  sweet  bounty  made 
For  those  who  follow  thee. 

There,  if  thy  Spirit  touch  the  soul. 

And  grace  her  mean  abode, 
Oh,  with  what  peace,  and  joy,  and  love, 

She  communes  with  her  God ! 

There  like  the  nightingale  she  pours 

Her  solitary  lays ; 
^ov  asks  a  witness  of  her  song, 

ITor  thirsts  for  human  praise. 

Author  and  Guardian  of  my  life, 
Sweet  source  of  light  divine. 

And  (all  harmonious  names  in  one) 
My  Saviour !  thou  art  mine ! 

"What  thanks  I  owe  thee,  and  what  love, 

A  boundless,  endless  store. 
Shall  echo  through  the  realms  above 

AVhen  time  shall  be  no  more. 


XLVII.   THE  HIDDEN  LIFR 

To  tell  the  Saviour  all  my  wants. 

How  pleasing  is  the  task  ! 
Nor  less  to  praise  him  when  he  grants 

Beyond  what  I  can  ask. 

My  laboring  spirit  vainly  seeks 

To  tell  biit  half  the  joy; 
With  how  much  tenderness  he  speaks. 

And  helps  me  to  reply. 


390  COWPEr's    rOETICAL    WORKS. 

ItTor  were  it  wise,  nor  should  I  choose, 

Such  secrets  to  declare ; 
Like  precious  wines,  their  taste  they  lose, 

Exposed  to  open  air. 

But  this  with  boldness  I  proclaim, 
Nor  care  if  thousands  hear — 

Sweet  is  the  ointment  of  his  name, 
Not  life  is  half  so  dear. 

And  can  you  frown,  my  former  friends, 
Who  knew  what  once  I  was ; 

And  blame  the  song  that  thus  commends 
The  Man  who  bore  the  cross  ? 

Trust  me,  I  draw  the  likeness  true, 

And  not  as  fancy  paints ; 
Such  honor  may  he  give  to  you. 

For  such  have  all  his  saints. 


XLVIII.  .JOY  AND  PEACE  IN  BELIEVINa. 

Sometimes  a  light  surprises 

The  Christian  while  he  sings ; 
It  is  the  Lord  wlio  rises 

With  healing  in  his  wings : 
When  comforts  are  declining, 

He  grants  the  soul  again 
A  season  of  clear  shining. 

To  cheer  it  after  rain. 

In  holy  contemplation. 

We  sweetly  then  pursue 
The  theme  of  God's  salvation, 

And  find  it  ever  new. 
Set  free  from  present  sorrow. 

We  cheerfully  can  say, 
Even  let  the  unknown  to-morrow^ 

Bring  with  it  what  it  may ! 

It  can  bring  with  it  nothing. 
But  He  will  bear  us  through  -, 

1  Matthew  vi.  34. 


OLNEY    IIVMNS.  391 

"Who  gives  tlie  lilies  clothing, 

Will  clothe  his  people  too: 
Beneatli  the  spreading  heavens 

No  creature  but  is  fed ; 
And  He  who  feeds  the  ravens 

Will  give  his  children  bread. 

Though  vine  nor  fig-tree  neither' 

Their  wonted  fruit  should  bear, 
Though  all  the  fields  should  wither, 

IST or  flocks  nor  herds  be  there : 
Yet  God  the  same  abiding, 

His  praise  shall  tune  iny  voice; 
For,  w^hile  in  him  confiding, 

I  cannot  but  rejoice. 


XLIX.     TRUE  PLEASURES. 

Lord,  my  soul  with  pleasure  springs. 

When  Jesus'  name  I  hear; 
And  when  God  the  Spirit  brings 

The  word  of  promise  near : 
Beauties  too,  in  holiness, 

Still  dehghted  1  perceive; 
Nor  have  words  that  can  express 

The  joys  thy  precepts  give. 

Clothed  in  sanctity  and  grace, 

How  sweet  it  is  to  see 
Those  who  love  thee  as  they  pass, 

Or  when  they  wait  on  thee! 
Pleasant  too,  to  sit  and  tell 

What  we  owe  to  Love  divine ; 
Till  our  bosoms  grateful  swell, 

And  eyes  begin  to  shine. 

Those  the  comforts  I  possess, 
Which  God  shall  still  increase: 

All  his  ways  are  pleasantness,^ 
And  all  his  paths  are  peace 

Nothing  Jesus  did  or  spoke. 
Henceforth  let  me  ever  slight ; 

2  Ilabakkuk  iii.  17, 18.  a  Proverbs  iii.  17. 


3^2;  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  I  love  his  easy  yoke/ 
And  find  his  burden  light. 


L.   THE  CHRISTIAN. 

Honor  and  happiness  unite 

To  make  tlie  Christian's  name  a  praise ; 
How  fair  the  scene,  how  clear  the  light, 

That  fills  the  remnant  of  his  days ! 

A  kingly  character  he  bears, 

1^0  change  his  priestly  office  knows ; 

Unfadiug  is  tlie  crown  he  wears. 
His  joys  can  never  reach  a  close. 

Adorn'd  with  glory  from  on  high, 
Salvation  shines  upon  his  face ; 

His  robe  is  of  the  ethereal  dye, 
His  steps  are  dignity  and  grace. 

Inferior  honors  he  disdains, 

Nor  stoops  to  take  applause  from  earth : 
The  King  of  kings  himself  maintains 

The  expenses  of  his  heavenly  birth. 

The  noblest  creature  seen  below, 
Ordaiu'd  to  fill  a  throne  above ; 

God  gives  him  all  he  can  bestoAV, 
His  kingdom  of  eternal  love. 

My  soul  is  ravish'd  at  the  thought ! 

Methinks  from  earth  I  see  him  rise ! 
Angels  congratulate  his  lot. 

And  shout  him  welcome  to  the  skies ! 


LI.    LIVELY  HOPE  AND  GRACIOUS  FEAR. 

I  WAS  a  grovelling  creature  once. 
And  basely  cleaved  to  eartJi ; 

I  wanted  spirit  to  renounce 
The  clod  that  gave  me  birth. 
^  Matthew  xi.  30. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  39^ 

But  God  has  breathed  upon  a  worm, 

And  sent  me,  from  above. 
Wings  such  as  clothe  an  angel's  form, 

The  wings  of  joy  and  love. 

With  these  to  Pisgah's  top  I  fly. 

And  there  delighted  stand. 
To  view  beneath  a  shining  sky 

The  spacious  promised  land. 

The  Lord  of  all  the  vast  domain 

Has  promised  it  to  me ; 
The  length  and  breadth  of  all  the  plain, 

As  far  as  faith  can  see. 

How  glorious  is  my  privilege ! 

To  thee  for  help  I  call ; 
I  stand  upon  a  mountain's  edge. 

Oh,  save  me,  lest  I  fall ! 

Though  much  exalted  in  the  Lord, 

My  strength  is  not  my  own ; 
Then  let  me  tremble  at  his  word, 

And  none  shall  cast  me  down. 


LH.    FOR  THE  POOR. 

When  Hagar  found  the  bottle  spent, 

And  wept  o'er  Ishmael, 
A  message  from  the  Lord  was  sent 

To  guide  her  to  a  well.^ 

Should  not  Elijah's  cake  and  cruse* 

Convince  us  at  this  day, 
A  gracious  God  will  not  refuse 

Provisions  by  the  way  ? 

His  saints  and  servants  sliall  be  fed. 

The  promise  is  secure : 
"Bread  shall  be  given  them,"  he  has  said, 

"  Their  water  shall  be  sure."^ 

1  Genesis  xxi.  19.        ^  i  Kings  xvii.  14.        3  isaiah  xxxiii.  16. 


394  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Repasts  far  richer  they  shall  prove, 
Than  all  earth's  dainties  are ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  taste  a  Saviour's  love, 
Though  in  the  meanest  fare. 

To  Jesus  then  your  trouble  bring, 
Nor  murmur  at  your  lot ; 

"While  you  are  poor  and  he  is  King, 
You  shall  not  be  forgot. 


LIII.    MY  SOUL  THIRSTETH  FOR  GOD. 

I  THIRST,  but  not  as  once  I  did 

The  vain  delights  of  earth  to  share; 
Thy  wounds,  Emmanuel,  all  forbid 
.  That  I  should  seek  my  pleasures  there. 

It  was  the  sight  of  thy  dear  cross 

First  wean'd  my  soul  from  earthly  things ; 

And  taught  me  to  esteem  as  dross 
The  mirth  of  fools  and  pomp  of  kings. 

I  want  that  grace  that  springs  from  thee. 
Til  at  quickens  all  things  where  it  flows, 

And  makes  a  wretched  thorn  like  me 
Bloom  as  the  myrtle  or  the  rose. 

Dear  fountain  of  delight  unknown ! 

No  longer  sink  below  the  brim  ; 
But  overflow,  and  pour  me  down 

A  living  and  life-giving  stream ! 

For  sure,  of  all  the  plants  that  share 
The  notice  of  thy  Father's  eye, 

Kone  proves  less  grateful  to  his  care. 
Or  yields  him  meaner  fruit  than  I. 


LIV.    LOYE  CONSTRAINING  TO  OBEDIENCE. 

No  strength  of  Nature  can  suffice 

To  serve  the  Lord  aright : 
And  what  she  has  she  misapplies,  ' 

For  want  of  clearer  liffht. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  395 

How  long  beneatli  the  law  1  lay- 
In  bondage  and  distress ! 

I  toil'd  the  precept  to  obey, 
But  toil'd  without  success. 

Then,  to  abstain  from  outward  sin 

Was  more  than  I  could  do ; 
Now,  if  I  feel  its  power  within, 

I  feel  I  hate  it  too. 

Then,  all  ray  servile  works  were  done 

A  righteousness  to  raise ; 
Now,  freely  chosen  in  the  Son, 

I  freely  choose  his  ways. 

"  Wliat  shall  1  do,"  was  then  the  word, 

''That  I  may  worthier  grow  V 
''What  shall  I  render  to  the  Lord?" 

Is  my  inquiry  now. 

To  see  the  law  by  Christ  fulfilPd, 

And  hear  his  pardoning  voice, 
Changes  a  slave  into  a  child,* 

And  duty  into  choice. 


LV.  THE  HEART  HEALED  AND  CHANGED  BY 
MERCY. 

Sin  enslaved  me  many  years, 

And  led  me  bound  and  blind ; 
Till  at  length  a  thousand  fears 

Came  swarming  o'er  my  mind. 
"  Where,"  I  said,  in  deep  distress, 

"Will  these  sinful  pleasures  end? 
How  shall  I  secure  my  peace. 

And  make  the  Lord  my  friend?" 

Friends  and  ministers  said  much 

The  Gospel  to  enforce ; 
But  my  blindness  still  was  such 

I  chose  a  legal  course : 

'  Romans  iw.  31. 


'396  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Much  I  fasted,  watch'd,  and  strove, 
Scarce  would  show  my  face  ahroad, 

Fear'd  ahnost  to  speak  or  move, 
A  stranger  still  to  God. 

Thus  afraid  to  trust  his  grace, 

Long  time  did  I  rebel ; 
Till,  despairing  of  my  case, 

Down  at  his  feet  I  fell : 
Then  my  stubborn  heart  he  broke, 

And  subdued  me  to  his  sway ; 
By  a  simple  word  he  spoke, 

"  Thy  sins  are  done  away." 


LVI.    HATRED  OF  SIN. 

Holy  Lord  God !  I  love  thy  truth, 

Nor  dare  thy  least  commandment  slight ; 

Yet  pierced  by  sin,  the  serpent's  tooth, 
I  mourn  the  anguish  of  the  bite. 

But,  though  the  poison  lurks  within, 
Hope  bids  me  still  with  patience  wait ; 

Till  Death  shall  set  me  free  from  sin, 
Free  from  the  only  thing  I  hate. 

Had  I  a  throne  above  the  rest, 

"Where  angels  and  archangels  dwell, 

One  sin,  unslain,  within  my  breast. 
Would  make  that  heaven  as  dark  as  hell. 

The  prisoner,  sent  to  breathe  fresh  air. 
And  bless'd  Avith  liberty  again, 

Would  mourn,  were  he  condemned  to  wear 
One  link  of  all  his  former  chain. 

But,  oh !  no  foe  invades  the  bliss. 

When  glory  crowns  the  Christian's  head ; 

One  view  of  Jesus  as  he  is 
Will  strike  all  sin  forever  dead. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  397 


LVII.    THE  NEW  CONVEET.' 

The  new-born  child  of  Gospel  grace, 

Like  some  fair  tree  when  Summer's  nigh, 

Beneath  Emmanuel's  shinmg  face 

Lifts  up  his  blooming  branch  on  high. 

"Ro  fears  he  feels,  he  sees  no  foes, 
Ko  conflict  yet  his  faith  employs ; 

Nor  has  he  learnt  to  whom  he  owes 
The  strength  and  peace  his  soul  enjoys. 

But  sin  soon  darts  its  cruel  sting, 
And  comforts  sinking  day  by  day ; 

"What  seem'd  his  own,  a  self-fed  spring, 
Proves  but  a  brook  that  glides  away. 

When  Gideon  arm'd  liis  numerous  host. 
The  Lord  soon  made  his  numbers  less ; 

And  said,  ''  Lest  Israel  vainly  boast,^ 
'  My  arm  procured  me  this  success.' " 

Thus  will  he  bring  our  spirits  down, 
And  draw  our  ebbing  comforts  low ; 

That,  saved  by  grace,  but  not  our  own, 
We  may  not  claim  the  praise  we  owe. 


LVIII.    TRUE  AND  FALSE  COMFORTS. 

O  God,  whose  favorable  eye, 

The  sin-sick  soul  revives, 
Holy  and  heavenly  is  the  joy 

Thy  shining  presence  gives. 

Not  such  as  hypocrites  suppose, 

AVho  with  a  graceless  heart 
Taste  not  of  thee,  but  drink  a  dose 

Prepared  by  Satan's  art. 

Intoxicating  joys  are  theirs. 

Who,  while  they  boast  their  light, 

>  Judges  vii.  2. 
34 


398  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  seem  to  soar  above  the  stars, 
Are  plunging  into  night. 

LiiU'd  in  a  soft  and  fatal  sleep, 
They  sin,  and  yet  rejoice ; 

Were  they  indeed  the  Saviour's  sheep, 
Would  they  not  hear  his  voice  ? 

Be  mine  the  comforts  that  reclaim 
The  soul  from  Satan's  power ; 

That  make  me  blush  for  what  I  am, 
And  hate  my  sin  the  more. 

-Tis  joy  enough,  my  All  in  All, 

At  thy  dear  feet  to  lie ; 
Thou  wilt  not  let  me  lower  fall, 

And  none  can  higher  fly. 


LIX.    A  LIVING  AND  A  DEAD  FAITH. 

The  Lord  receives  his  highest  praise 
From  humble  minds  and  hearts  sincere ; 

While  all  the  loud  professor  says 
Offends  the  righteous  Judge's  ear. 

To  walk  as  children  of  the  day, 
To  mark  the  precepts'  holy  light. 

To  wage  the  warfare,  watch,  and  pray, 
Show  who  are  pleasing  in  his  sight. 

Not  words  alone  it  cost  the  Lord, 
To  purcliase  pardon  for  his  own ; 

Nor  will  a  soul,  by  grace  restored. 
Return  the  Saviour  words  alone. 

With  golden  bells,  the  priestly  vest. 

And  rich  pomegranates  border'd  round,* 

The  need  of  holiness  express'd. 
And  call'd  for  fruit,  as  well  as  sound. 

Easy,  indeed,  it  were  to  reach 
A  mansion  in  tlie  courts  above. 

If  swelling  w^ords  and  fluent  speech 
Might  serve,  instead  of  faith  and  love. 

1  Exodus  XXV Hi.  33. 


OL>'EY    HYMNS.  399 

But  none  sliall  gain  the  blissful  place, 

Or  God's  unclouded  glory  see, 
Who  talks  of  free  and  sovereign  grace. 

Unless  that  grace  lias  made  him  free ! 


— r — 

LX.   ABUSE  OF  THE  GOSPEL. 

Too  many,  Lord,  abuse  thy  grace, 

In  this  licentious  day ; 
And  while  they  boast  they  see  thy  face, 

They  turn  their  own  away. 

Thy  Book  displays  a  gracious  light 

That  can  the  blind  restore ; 
But  these  are  dazzled  by  the  sight, 

And  blinded  still  the  more. 

The  pardon  such  presume  upon. 

They  do  not  beg,  but  steal; 
And  when  they  plead  it  at  thy  throne, 

Oh !  Where's  the  Spirit's  seal  ? 

Was  it  for  this,  ye  lawless  tribe. 

The  dear  Redeemer  bled  ? 
Is  this  the  grace  the  saints  imbibe 

From  Christ  the  living  head  ? 

Ah,  Lord,  we  know  thy  chosen  few 

Are  fed  with  heavenly  fare ; 
But  these,  the  wretched  husks  they  chew, 
•     Proclaim  them  what  they  are. 

The  liberty  our  liearts  implore 

Is  not  to  live  in  sin ; 
But  still  to  wait  at  Wisdom's  door, 

Till  Mercy  calls  us  in. 


LXI.   THE  NARROW  WAY. 

What  thousands  never  knew  the  road ! 

What  thousands  hate  it  when  'tis  known  t 
None  but  the  chosen  tribes  of  God 

■Will  seek  or  choose  it  for  their  own. 


400  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  tliousand  ways  in  ruin  end, 
One  only  leads  to  joys  on  high ; 

By  that  my  willing  steps  ascend, 
Pleased  with  a  journey  to  the  sky. 

No  more  I  ask,  or  hope  to  find, 

Delight  or  happiness  below ; 
Sorrow  may  well  possess  the  mind 

That  feeds  where  thorns  and  thistles  grow. 

The  joy  that  fades  is  not  for  me, 

I  seek  immortal  joys  above ; 
There  glory  without  end  shall  be 

The  bright  reward  of  faith  and  love. 

Cleave  to  the  world,  ye  sordid  worms, 
Contented  lick  your  native  dust ; 

But  God  shall  fight  with  all  his  storms 
Against  the  idol  of  your  trust. 


LXII.    DEPENDENCE. 

To  keep  the  lamp  alive, 
With  oil  we  fill  the  bowl  ; 
'Tis  water  makes  the  willow  thrive, 
And  grace  that  feeds  the  soul. 

The  Lord's  unsparing  hand 

Supplies  the  living  stream ; 

It  is  not  at  our  own  command, 

But  still  derived  from  him. 

Beware  of  Peter's  word,^ 
NTor  confidently  say, 
"I  never  will  deny  thee.  Lord," 
But,  ''Grant  I  never  may!" 

Man's  wisdom  is  to  seek 
His  strength  in  God  alone ; 
And  even  an  angel  Avould  be  weak, 
Who  trusted  in  his  own. 

Eetreat  beneath  his  wings. 
And  in  his  grace  confide ! 

1  Matthew  xxvi.  83. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  401 

This  more  exalts  the  king  of  kings^ 
.Than  all  your  works  beside. 

In  Jesus  is  our  store ; 
Grace  issues  from  his  throne  ; 
Whoever  says,  '^  I  want  no  more," 
Confesses  he  has  none. 


LXIII.    NOT  OF  WORKS. 

Grace,  triumphant  in  the  throne, 
Scorns  a  rival,  reigns  alone ; 
Come  and  bow  beneath  her  sway^ 
Cast  your  idol  works  away ! 
Works  of  man,  when  made  his  plea, 
Never  shall  accepted  be ; 
Fruits  of  pride  (vain-glorious  worm !) 
Are  the  best  he  can  perform. 

Self,  the  god  his  soul  adores, 
Influences  all  his  powers ; 
Jesus  is  a  slighted  name. 
Self-advancement  all  iiis  aim : 
But  when  God  the  Judge  shall  come, 
To  pronounce  the  final  doom, 
Then  for  rocks  and  hills  to  hide 
All  his  works  and  all  his  pride ! 

Still  the  boasting  heart  replies, 
What !  the  worthy  and  the  wise, 
Friends  to  temperance  and  peace, 
Have  not  these  a  righteousness? 
Banish  every  vain  pretence. 
Built  on  human  excellence ; 
Perish  every  thing  in  man, 
But  the  grace  that  never  can! 


LXIV.   PRAISE  FOR  FAITH. 

Of  all  the  gifts  thine  hand  bestows, 
Thou  Giver  of  all  good! 

1  John  vi.  29. 


402  cowper's  poetical  works. 

!N'ot  heaven  itself  a  richer  knows 
Than  my  Redeemer's  blood. 

Eaith  too,  the  blood-receiving  grace, 
From  the  same  hand  we  gain ; 

Else,  sweetly  as  it  suits  our  case, 
That  gift  had  been  in  vain. 

Till  thou  thy  teaching  power  apply, 

Our  hearts  refuse  to  see, 
And  weak,  as  a  distemper'd  eye, 

Shut  out  the  view  of  thee. 

Blind  to  the  merits  of  thy  Son, 

What  misery  we  endure ! 
Yet  fly  that  hand  from  which  alone 

AVe  could  expect  a  cure. 

We  praise  thee,  and  would  praise  thee  more. 

To  thee  our  all  we  owe ; 
The  precious  Saviour,  and  the  power 

That  makes  him  precious  too. 


LXV.    GRACE  AND  PROVIDENCE. 

Almighty  King !  whose  wondrous  liand 
Supports  the  weight  of  sea  and  land ; 
Whose  grace  is  such  a  boundless  store, 
No  heart  shall  break  that  sighs  for  more. 

Thy  providence  supplies  my  food. 
And  'tis  thy  blessing  makes  it  good ; 
My  soul  is  nourish'd  by  tliy  Word — 
Let  soul  and  body  praise  the  Lord ! 

My  streams  of  outward  comfort  came 
From  Him  who  built  this  earthly  frame ; 
Whate'er  I  want  his  bounty  gives, 
By  whom  my  soul  forever  lives. 

Either  his  hand  preserves  from  pain. 
Or,  if  I  feel  it,  heals  again ; 
From  Satan's  malice  shields  my  breast. 
Or  overrules  it  for  the  best. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  403 

Forgive  the  song  that  falls  so  low 
Beneath  tlie  gratitude  I  owe ! 
It  means  thy  praise,  however  poor ; 
An  angel's  song  can  do  no  more. 


LXVI.    I  WILL  PRAISE  THE  LORD  AT  ALL  TIMES. 

Winter  has  a  joy  for  me, 

While  the  Saviour's  charms  I  read, 

Lowly,  meek,  from  blemish  free. 
In  the  snowdrop's  pensive  head. 

Spring  returns,  and  brings  along 

Life-invigorating  suns  : 
Hark!  the  turtle's  plaintive  song 

Seems  to  speak  his  dying  groans ! 

Summer  has  a  thousand  charms, 

All  expressive  of  his  worth ; 
'Tis  His  sun  that  lights  and  warms, 

His  the  air  that  cools  the  earth. 

What !  has  Autumn  left  to  say 

!N"othing  of  a  Saviour's  grace  ? 
Yes,  the  beams  of  milder  day 

Tell  me  of  his  smiling  face. 

Light  appears  with  early  dawn. 
While  the  sun  makes  haste  to  rise ; 

See  his  bleeding  beauties  drawn 
On  the  blushes  of  the  skies. 

Evening  with  a  silent  pace. 

Slowly  moving  in  the  west. 
Shows  an  emblem  of  his  grace, 

Points  to  an  eternal  rest. 


LXVIL    LONGING  TO  BE  WITH  CHRIST. 

To  Jesus,  the  Crown  of  my  hope. 
My  soul  is  in  haste  to  be  gone : 

Oh  bear  me,  ye  cherubim,  up. 
And  waft  me  away  to  his  throne ! 


404  cowper's  poetical  works. 

My  Saviour,  wliom  absent  I  love, 
Whom,  not  having  seen,  I  adore ; 

Whose  name  is  exalted  above 
All  glory,  dominion,  and  power ; 

Dissolve  thou  these  bonds,  that  detain 
My  soul  from  her  portion  in  thee ; 

Ah,  strike  off  this  adamant  chain, 
And  make  me  eternally  free ! 

When  that  happy  era  begins. 

When  array'd  in  thy  glories  I  shine, 

ISTor  grieve  any  more,  by  my  sins. 
The  bosom  on  which  I  recline : 

Oh,  then  shall  the  veil  be  removed, 

And  round  me  thy  brightness  be  pour'd; 

I  shall  meet  Him  whom  absent  I  loved, 
I  shall  see  whom  unseen  I  adored. 

And  then,  never  more  shall  the  fears, 
The  trials,  temptations,  and  woes, 

Which  darken  this  valley  of  tears. 
Intrude  on  my  blissful  repose. 

Or,  if  yet  remember'd  above. 
Remembrance  no  sadness  shall  raise ; 

They  will  be  but  new  signs  of  thy  love, 
IlTew  themes  for  my  wonder  and  praise. 

Thus  the  strokes  which  from  sin  and  from  pain 

Shall  set  me  eternally  free. 
Will  but  strengthen  and  rivet  the  chain 

Which  binds  me,  my  Saviour,  to  thee. 


LXVIII.    LIGHT  SHINING  OUT  OP  DARKNESS. 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  wonders  to  perform  ; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 


OLNEY    HYMNS.  405 


Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  liis  bright  designs, 

And  works  his  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take, 
The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 

Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head ! 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace : 

Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast. 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err,* 
And  scan  his  work  in  vain : 

God  is  his  own  interpreter. 
And  he  will  make  it  plain  I 

J  John  xiii.  T. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  DR.  DARWIN, 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    BOTANIC    GARDEX." 

Two  Poets^  (poets,  by  report, 

Not  oft  so  well  agree), 
Sweet  harmonist  of  Flora's  court! 

Consi)ire  to  honor  thee. 

They  best  can  judge  a  poet's  w^ortli, 
Who  oft  themselves  have  known 

The  pangs  of  a  poetic  birth 
By  labors  of  their  own. 

We  therefore,  pleased,  extol  thy  song, 

Though  various,  yet  complete, 
Rich  in  embellishment  as  strong. 

And  learned  as  'tis  sweet. 

No  envy  mingles  with  our  praise. 
Though,  could  our  hearts  repine 

At  any  poet's  happier  lays. 

They  Avould — they  must  at  thine. 

But  w^e,  in  mutual  bondage  knit 

Of  friendship's  closest  tie. 
Can  gaze  on  even  Darwin's  wit 

With  an  unjaundiced  eye ; 

And  deem  the  Bard,  whoe'er  he  be. 

And  howsoever  known, 
Who  would  not  twine  a  wreath  for  thee, 

Unwortliy  of  his  own. 

'  AUaCing  to  the  poem  by  Mr.  Hayley,  ^vhich  accompanied  these  line>. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  407 


ON  MRS.  MONTAGU'S  FEATHER-HANGINGS. 

The  Birds  put  off  their  every  hue 
To  dress  a  room  for  Montagu. 

Tlie  Peacock  sends  bis  heavenly  dyes, 
His  rainbows  and  his  starry  eyes ; 
The  Pheasant  plumes,  which  round  infold 
His  mantling  neck  with  downy  gold ; 
The  Cock  his  arch'd  tail's  azure  sboAv; 
And,  river-blanch'd,  the  Swan  his  snow. 
All  tribes  beside  of  Indian  name, 
That  glossy  shine,  or  vivid  flame, 
AVhere  rises,  and  where  sets  the  day, 
"Whate'er  they  boast  of  rich  and  gay, 
Contribute  to  the  gorgeous  plan. 
Proud  to  advance  it  all  they  can. 
This  plumage  neither  dashing  shower. 
Nor  blasts,  that  shake  the  dripping  bower, 
Shall  drench  again  or  discompose ; 
But,  screen'd  from  every  storm  that  blows. 
It  boasts  a  splendor  ever  new, 
Safe  with  protecting  Montagu. 

To  the  same  patroness  resort, 
Secure  of  favor  at  her  court. 
Strong  Genius,  from  whose  forge  of  thought 
Forms  rise,  to  quick  perfection  wrought, 
"Which,  though  new-born,  with  vigor  move, 
Like  Pallas  springing  arm'd  from  Jove ; 
Imagination  scattering  round 
"Wild  roses  over  furrow'd  ground, 
"Which  Labor  of  his  frown  beguile, 
And  teach  Philosophy  a  smile ; 
"Wit  flashing  on  religion's  side, 
"Whose  fires  to  sacred  Truth  applied, 
The  gem,  though  luminous  before. 
Obtrude  on  human  notice  more. 
Like  sunbeams  on  the  golden  height 
Of  some  tall  temple  playing  bright ; 
"Well-tutor'd  Learning,  from  his  books 
Dismiss'd  with  grave,  not  haughty,  looks. 
Their  order  on  his  shelves  exact. 
Not  more  harmonious  or  compact 


408  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Tlian  that  to  which  he  keeps  confined 
The  various  treasures  of  his  mind ; — 
All  tliese  to  Montagu's  repair, 
Ambitious  of  a  shelter  there. 
There  Genius,  Learning,  Fancy,  Wit, 
Their  ruffled  plumage  calm  refit 
(For  stormy  troubles  loudest  roar 
Around  their  flight  who  highest  soar). 
And  in  lier  eye,  and  by  her  aid. 
Shine  safe  without  a  fear  to  fade. 

She  thus  maintains  divided  sway 
With  yon  bright^regent  of  the  day: 
The  Plume  and  Poet  both  we  know 
Their  lustre  to  his  influence  owe ; 
And  she  the  works  of  Phoebus  aiding, 
Both  Poet  saves  and  Plume  from  fading 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  (AFTERWARDS  LADY) 
THROCKMORTON'S  BULLFINCH. 

Ye  Nymphs !  if  e'er  your  eyes  were  red 
With  tears  o'er  hapless  favorites  shed, 

Oh  share  Maria's  grief! 
Her  favorite,  even  in  his  cage, 
(What  will  not  hunger's  cruel  rage  ?^) 

Assassin'd  by  a  thief.  y 

Where  Rhenus  strays  his  vines  among. 
The  egg  was  laid  from  which  he  sprung ; 

And,  though  by  nature  mute, 
Or  only  with  a  whistle  blest,  J 

AVell  taught  he  all  the  sounds  express'd 

Of  flageolet  or  flute. 

The  honors  of  his  ebon  poll 

Were  brighter  than  the  sleekest  mole ; 

His  bosom  of  the  hue 
With  which  Aurora  decks  the  skies, 
When  piping  winds  shall  soon  arise, 

To  sweep  away  the  dew. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  409 

Above,  below,  in  all  the  house, 
Dire  foe  alike  of  bird  and  mouse, 

No  cat  had  leave  to  dwell ; 
And  Bully's  cage  supported  stood 
On  props  of  smoothest  shaven  wood, 

Large-built  and  latticed  well. . 


v/ 


Well  latticed — but  the  grate,  alas ! 
'Not  rougli  witli  wire  of  steel  or  brass, 

For  Bully's  plumage  sake, 
But  smooth  with  wands  from  Ouse's  side, 
"With  which,  when  neatly  peel'd  and  dried, 

The  swarn^Uheir  bask^  make. 

ISTight  veil'd  the  pole :  all  seem'd  secure : 
"When,  led  by  instinct  sharp  and  sure, 

Subsistence  to  provide, 
A  beast  fortli  sallied  on  the  scout. 
Long  back'd,  long  tail'd,  with  whisker'd  snout, 

And  badger-color'd  hide. 

lie,  entering  at  the  study  door, 
Its  ample  area  'gan  explore ; 

And  something  in  the  wind 
Conjectured,  sniffing  round  and  round. 
Better  tlian  all  the  books  he  found, 

Food  chiefly  for  the  mind. 

Just  then,  by  adverse  fate  impress'd, 
A  dream  disturb'd  poor  Bully's  rest; 

In  sleep  he  seem'd  to  view 
A  rat  fast  clinging  to  the  cage. 
And,  screaming  at  the  sad'^resage, 

Awoke  and  found  it  true. 

For,  aided  both  by  ear  and  scent. 
Right  to  his  mark  the  monster  went- — 

Ah,  Muse !  forbear  to  speak 
Minute  the  horrors  that  ensued  ;  y 

His  teeth  were  strong,  the  cage  was  jx^od*^ 

He  left  poor  Bully's  beak. 

Oh,  had  he  made  that  too  his  prey ; 
That  beak,  whence  issued  many  a  lay 
Of  such  mellifluous  tone, 
35 


y 


410  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Might  have  repaid  him  well,  I  wot, 
For  silencing  so  sweet  a  throat, 

Fast  stuck  within  his  own. 

Maria  weeps — the  Muses  mourn :  ^ 
So  when,  by  Bacchanalians  torn, 

On  Thracian  Hebrus'  side 
The  tree-enchanter  Orpheus  fell ; 
His  head  alone  remain'd  to  tell 

The  cruel  death  he  died. 


THE  ROSE. 

The  rose  had  been  wash'd,  just  wash'd  in  a  shower, 

Which  Mary  to  Anna  convey'd ; 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumberVl  the  flower, 

And  weigh'd  down  its  beautiful  head. 

The  cup  was  all  filPd,  and  tlie  leaves  were  all  wet. 

And  it  seem'd,  to  a  f^mciful  view, 
To  weep  for  the  buds  it  had  left,  with  regret. 

On  the  flourishing  bush  where  it  grew. 

1  hastily  seized  it,  unfit  as  it  was 

For  a  nosegay,  so  dripping  and  drown'd, 

And  swinging  it  rudely,  too  rudely,  alas ! 
I  snapp'd  it — it  fell  to  the  ground. 

And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless  part 

Some  act  by  the  delicate  mind, 
Kegardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  heart 

Already  to  sorrow  resign^. 

This  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  it  less. 

Might  have  bloomed  with  its  owner  awhile; 

And  the  tear,  that  is  wiped  with  a  little  address, 
May  be  followed  perhaps  by  a  smile. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  411 

ODE  TO  APOLLO. 

ON   AX   INKGLASS   ALMOST    DRIED    IN   THE   SUN. 

Patron  of  all  those  luckless  brains, 

That,  to  the  wrong  side  leaning. 
Indite  much  metre  with  much  pains, 

And  little  or  no  meaning ; 

Ah  why,  since  oceans,  rivers,  streams, 

That  water  all  the  nations. 
Pay  tribute  to  thy  glorious  beams, 

In  constant  exhalations ; 

Why,  stooping  from  the  noon  of  day, 

Too  covetous  of  drink, 
Apollo,  hast  thou  stolen  away 

A  poet's  drop  of  ink  ? 

Upborne  into  the  viewless  air, 

It  floats  a  vapor  now, 
Impell'd  through  regions  dense  and  rare. 

By  all  the  winds  that  blow. 

Ordain'd  perhaps,  ere  summer  flies, 

Combined  with  millions  more, 
To  form  an  Iris  in  the  skies, 
•    Though  black  and  foul  before. 

Illustrious  drop !  and  happy  then 

Beyond  the  happiest  lot, 
Of  all  that  ever  passVl  my  pen. 

So  soon  to  be  forgot ! 

Phoibus,  if  such  be  thy  design,    ^ 

To  place  it  in  thy  bow, 
Give  wit,  that  what  is  left  may  shine 

With  equal  -grace  below. 


THE  POET'S  new-year's  GIFT. 

TO   MRS.  (afterwards   LADY)   THROCKMORTON. 

Maria  !  I  have  every  good 
For  thee  wish'd  many  a  time. 


412  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Both  sad,  and  in  a  cheerful  mood, 
But  never  yet  in  rhyme. 

To  wish  thee  fairer  is  no  need, 
More  prudent,  or  more  sprightly, 

Or  more  ingenious,  or  more  freed 
From  temper-flaws  unsightly. 

"What  favor  then  not  yet  possessed 

Can  I  for  thee  require, 
In  wedded  love  already  blest. 

To  thy  whole  heart's  desire  ? 

None  here  is  happy  but  in  part ; 

Full  bliss  is  bliss  divine ; 
There  dwells  some  wish  in  every  heart, 

And  doubtless  one  in  thine. 

That  wish  on  some  fair  future  day, 
Which  fate  shall  brightly  gild 

('Tis  blameless,  be  it  what  it  may), 
I  wish  it  all  fulfilPd. 


PAIRING  TIME  ANTICIPATED. 

A   FABLE. 

I  SHALL  not  ask  Jean  Jaques  Rousseau' 

If  birds  confabulate  or  no ; 

'Tis  clear,  that  they  were  always  able 

To  hold  discourse,  at  least  in  fable ; 

And  even  the  child,  who  knows  no  better 

Than  to  interpret,  by  the  letter, 

A  story  o£  a  cock  and  bull. 

Must  have  a  most  uncommon  skull. 

It  chanced  then  on  a  winter's  day, 
But  warm,  and  bright,  and  calm  as  May, 
The  birds,  conceiving  a  design 
To  forestall  sweet  St.  Valentine, 
In  many  an  orchard,  copse,  and  grove, 
Assembled  on  affairs  of  love, 

1  It  was  one  of  the  whiniBical  speculations  of  this  philosopher,  that  all 
fables  which  ascribe  reason  and  speech  to  animals  should  be  withheld  from 
thildrcn,  as  being  only  vehicles  of  deception.  But  what  child  M'as  ever  do* 
ceivcd  by  them,  or  can  be,  against  the  evidence  of  his  senses? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  413 

And  with  nmcli  twitter  and  much  chatter 
Began  to  agitate  the  matter. 
At  length  a  Bullfinch,  who  could  boast 
More  years  and  wisdom  than  the  most, 
Entreated,  opening  wide  his  beak, 
A  moment's  liberty  to  speak ; 
And,  silence  publicly  enjoin'd, 
DeliverVl  briefly  thus  his  mind  : — 

My  friends !  be  cautious  how  ye  treat 
The  subject  upon  which  we  meet; 
I  fear  w^e  shall  have  winter  yet. 

A  Finch,  whose  tongue  knew  no  control, 
With  golden  wing  and  satin  poll, 
A  last  year's  bird,  who  ne'er  had  tried 
AVhat  marriage  means,  thus  pert  replied : — 

Methinks  the  gentleman,  quoth  she, 
Opposite  in  the  apple-tree. 
By  his  good-will  would  keep  us  single 
Till  yonder  heaven  and  earth  shall  mingle, 
Or  (which  is  likelier  to  befall) 
Till  death  exterminate  us  all. 
I  marry  without  more  ado. 
My  dear  Dick  Redcap,  what  say  you? 

Dick  heard,  and  tweedling,  oghng,  bridling, 
Turning  short  round,  strutting  and  sidleing, 
Attested,  glad,  his  approbation 
Of  an  immediate  conjugation. 
Their  sentiments  so  well  express'd 
Influenced  mightily  the  rest ; 
All  pair'd,  and  each  pair  built  a  nest. 

But,  though  the  birds  were  thus  in  haste, 
The  leaves  came  on  not  quite  so  fast ; 
And  Destiny,  that  sometimes  bears 
An  aspect  stern  on  man's  affairs, 
ITot  altogether  smiled  on  theirs. 
The  wind,  of  late  breathed  gently  forth, 
ISTow  shifted  east,  and  east  by  north. 
Bare  trees  and  shrubs  but  ill,  you  know, 
Could  shelter  them  from  rain  or  snow : 
Stepping  into  their  nests,  they  paddled. 
Themselves  were  chill'd,  their  eggs  w^ere  addled. 
Soon  every  father  bird  and  mother 
Grew  quarrelsome,  and  .peck'd  each  other, 


414  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Parted  without  the  least  regret, 
Except  that  they  had  ever  met, 
And  learn'd  in  future  to  be  wiser, 
Than  to  neglect  a  good  adviser. 

MORAL. 

Misses !  the  tale  that  I  relate 
This  lesson  seems  to  carry — 

Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate, 
But  proper  time  to  marry. 


THE  DOG  AND  THE  WATER  LILY. 

NO   FABLE. 

The  noon  was  shady,  and  soft  airs 
Swept  Ouse's  silent  tide,  ^ 

When,  'scaped  from  literary  cares, 
1  wander'd  on  his  side. 

My  spaniel,  prettiest  of  his  race. 

And  high  in  pedigree 
(Two  I^Tymphs^  adorn'd  with  every  grace 

That  spaniel  found  for  me), 

'  IRow  wanton'd  lost  in  flags  and  reeds,  j 

l!Tow  starting  into  sight. 
Pursued  the  swallow  o'er  tlie  meads 

"With  scarce  a  slower  flight. 

It  was  the  time  when  Ouse  displayed 
His  lilies  newly  blown ;  j 

Tlieir  beauties  I  intent  survey'd. 
And  one  I  wish'd  my  own. 

With  cane  extended  far  I  sought  J 

To  steer  it  close  to  land ; 
But  still  the  prize,  though  nearly  caught, 

Escaped  my  eager  hand. 

Beau  mark'd  my  unsuccessful  pains     J 

With  fix'd  considerate  face. 
And  puzzling  set  his  puppy  brains 

To  comprehend  the  case. 

J  Sir  Eobert  Gunnings  daughters. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  415 

But  with  a  cherup  clear  and  strong 

Dispersing  all  his  dream, 
I  thence  withdrew,  and  follow'd  long 

The  windings  of  the  stream. 

My  ramble  ended,  I  return'd ; 

Beau,  trotting  far  before. 
The  floating  wreath  again  discerned, 

And  plunging,  left  the  shore. 

I  saw  him  with  that  lily  cropped 

Impatient  swim  to  meet 
My  quick  approach,  and  soon  he  dropp'd 

The  treasure  at  my  feet. 

Oharm'd  with  the  sight.  The  world,  I  cried, 

Shall  hear  of  this  thy  deed : 
My  dog  shall  mortify  the  pride 

Of  man's  superior  breed : 

But  chief  myself  I  will  enjoin, 

Awake  at  duty's  call. 
To  show  a  love  as  prompt  as  thine 

To  Him  who  gives  me  all. 


y 


THE  NEGRO'S  COMPLAINT. 

FoECED  from  home  and  all  its  pleasures, 

Afric's  coast  I  left  forlorn ; 
To  increase  a  stranger's  treasures,  , 

O'er  the  raging  billows  borne.  / 

Men  from  England  bought  and  sold  me. 

Paid  my  price  in  paltry  gold ; 
But,  though  slave  they  have  enroll'd  me. 

Minds  are  never  to  be  sold,  yj 

Still  in  thought  as  free  as  ever, 

What  are  England's  riglits,  I  ask. 
Me  from  my  delights  to  sever,    I 

Me  to  torture,  me  to  task  ? 
Fleecy  locks  and  black  complexion    , 

Cannot  forfeit  Nature's  claim ; 
Skins  may  differ,  but  affection         ^J 

Dwells  in  white  and  black  the  same. 


416  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Why  did  all-creating  Nature 

Make  the  plant  for  which  we  toil  ? 
Sighs  must  fan  it,  tears  must  water, 

Sweat  of  ours  must  dr6ss  the  soil. 
Think,  ye  masters  iron-hearted. 

Lolling  at  your  jovial  b'oards,  / 

Think  how  many  backs  have  smarte^ 

For  the  sweets  your  cane  affords. 

Is  there,  as  ye  sometimes  tell  us, 

Is  there  One  who  reigns  on  high  ? 
Has  He  bid  you  buy  and  sell  us. 

Speaking  from  his  throne,  the  sky  ? 
Ask  Him,  if  your  knotted  scourges, 

Matches,  blood-extorting  screws, 
Are  the  means  that  duty  urges 

Agents  of  his  will  to  use  ? 

Hark !  He  answers ! — Wild  tornadoes, 

Strewing  yonder  sea  with  wrecks ; 
Wasting  towns,  plantations,  meadows, 

Are  the  voice  with  which  he  speaks. 
He,  foreseeing  what  vexations 

Afric's  sons  should  undergo, 
Fix'd  their  tyrants'  habitations 

Where  his  whirlwinds  answer — No. 

By  our  blood  in  Afric  wasted. 

Ere  our  necks  received  the  chain : 
By  the  miseries  that  we  tasted. 

Crossing  in  your  barks  tlie  main ; 
By  our  sufferings,  since  ye  brought  us 

To  the  man-degrading  mart, 
All  sustain'd  by  i)atience,  taught  us 

Only  by  a  broken  heart ; — 

Deem  our  nation  brutes  no  longer, 

Till  some  reason  ye  shall  find 
Worthier  of  regard,  and  stronger 

Than  the  color  of  our  kind. 
Slaves  of  gold,  whose  sordid  dealings 

Tarnish  all  your  boasted  powers,        \ 
Prove  that  you  have  human  feelings,'^ 

Ere  you  proudly  question  ours  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    TOEMS.  417 


PITY  FOR  POOR  AFRICANS. 

Video  meliora  proboque, 
Deteriora  sequor. 

I  OWN  I  am  sliockVI  at  the  purchase  of  slaves, 
And  fear  those  who  buy  them  and  sell  tliem  are  knaves ; 
What  I  hear  of  their  hardships,  their  tortures,  and  groans, 
Is  almost  enough  to  draw  pity  from  stones. 

I  pity  them  greatly,  but  I  must  be  mum, 

For  how  could  we  do  without  sugar  and  rum  ? 

Especially  sugar,  so  needful  w^e  see  ? — 

What !  give  up  our  desserts,  our  coffee,  and  tea ! 

Besides,  if  we  do,  the  French,  Dutch,  and  Danes, 
Will  heartily  thank  us,  no  doubt,  for  our  pains ; 
If  we  do  not  buy  the  poor  creatures,  they  will. 
And  tortures  and  groans  will  be  multiplied  still. 

If  foreigners  likewise  would  give  up  the  trade, 
Much  more  in  behalf  of  your  wish  might  be  said ; 
But,  while  they  get  riches  by  purchasing  blacks, 
Pray  tell  me  why  we  may  not  also  go  snacks. 

Your  scruples  and  arguments  bring  to  my  mmd 
A  story  so  pat,  you  may  think  it  is  coinVh^ 
On  purpose  to  answer  you,  out  of  my  mint ; 
But  I  can  assure  you  I  saw  it  in  print. 

A  youngster  at  school,  more  sedate  than  the  rest, 
Had  once  his  integrity  put  to  the  test ; 
His  comrades  had  plotted  an  orchard  to  rob. 
And  ask'd  him  to  go  and  assist  in  the  job. 

He  was  shock'd,  sir,  like*you,  and  answer'd,  "  Oh,  no ! 
What !  rob  our  good  neiglibor !  I  pray  you,  don't  go ; 
Besides,  the  man's  poor,  his  orchard's  his  bread. 
Then  think  of  his  children,  for  they  must  be  fed-'* 

"  Y"ou  speak  very  fine,  and  you  look  very  grave, 
But  apples  we  want,  and  apples  we'll  have ; 
If  you  will  go  with  us,  you  shall  have  a  share, 
If  not,  you  shall  have  neither  apple  nor  pear." 


418  cowper's  poetical  works. 

They  spoke,  and  Tom  ponderM — "I  see  they  Avill  go; 
Poor  man !  what  a  pity  to  injm*e  him  so  ! 
Poor  man !  I  would  save  him  his  fruit  if  I  could, 
But  staying  behind  will  do  him  no  good. 

"  If  the  matter  depended  alone  upon  me. 
His  apples  might  hang  till  they  dropp'd  from  the  tree ; 
But,  since  they  will  take  them,  I  think  Pll  go  too. 
He  will  lose  none  by  me,  though  I  get  a  few." 

His  scruples  thus  silenced,  Tom  felt  more  at  ease, 
And  went  with  his  comrades  the  apples  to  seize ; 
He  blamed  and  protested,  but  join-d  in  the  plan: 
He  shared  in  the  plunder,  but  pitied  the  man. 


THE  MORNING  DREAM. 

'TwAS  in  the  glad  season  of  spring, 

Asleep  at  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
I  dreamed  what  I  cannot  but  sing, 

So  pleasant  it  seem'd  as  I  lay. 
I  dream'd  that,  on  ocean  afloat. 

Far  hence  to  the  westward  I  snilVl, 
"While  the  billows  high  lifted  the  boat, 

And  the  fresh-blowing  breeze  never  fail'd. 

In  the  steerage  a  woman  I  saw. 

Such  at  least  was  the  form  that  she  wore, 
Whose  beauty  impress'd  me  with  awe, 

Ne'er  taught  me  by  woman  before. 
She  sat,  and  a  shield  at  her  side 

Shed  light,  like  a  sun  on  the  waves,  . 
And  smiling  divinely,  she  cried — 

"  I  go  to  make  freemen  of  slaves !" 

Then,  raising  her  voice  to  a  strain 

The  sweetest  that  ear  ever  heard, 
She  sung  of  the  slave's  broken  chain, 

Wherever  her  glory  appear'd. 
Some  clouds,  which  had  over  us  hung, 

Pled,  chased  by  her  melody  clear. 
And  methought  while  she  liberty  sung, 

'Twas  liberty  only  to  hear. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  419 

Thus  swiftly  dividing  the  flood, 

To  a  slave-cultnred  island  we  came, 
Where  a  Demon,  her  enemy,  stood — 

Oppression  his  terrible  name. 
In  his  hand,  as  the  sign  of  his  sway, 

A  scourge  hung  with  lashes  he  bore, 
And  stood  looking  out  for  his  prey 

From  Africa's  sorrowful  shore. 

But  soon  as,  approaching  the  land, 

That  goddess-like  woman  he  view'd, 
The  scourge  he  let  fall  from  his  hand. 

With  blood  of  his  subjects  imbrued. 
I  saw  him  both  sicken  and  die. 

And,  the  moment  the  monster  expired, 
Heard  shouts,  that  ascended  the  sky. 

From  thousands  with  rapture  inspired. 

Awaking,  how  could  I  but  muse 

At  what  such  a  dream  should  betide  ? 
But  soon  my  ear  caught  the  glad  news. 

Which  served  my  weak  thought  for  a  guide, — 
That  Britannia,  renown'd  o'er  the  waves 

For  the  hatred  she  ever  has  shown 
To  the  black-sceptred  rulers  of  slaves, 

Resolves  to  have  none  of  her  own. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  AN  AFFLICTED  PROTESTANT  LADY 
IN  FRANCE. 

Madam, — A  stranger's  purpose  in  these  lays 
Is  to  congratulate,  and  not  to  praise. 
To  give  the  creature  the  Creator's  due 
AVere  sin  in  me,  and  an  offence  to  you. 
From  man  to  man,  or  even  to  woman  paid, 
Praise  is  the  medium  of  a  knavish  trade ; 
A  coin  by  craft  for  Folly's  use  design'd, 
Spurious,  and  only  current  with  the  blind. 
The  path  of  sorrow,  and  that  path  alone, 
Leads  to  the  land  where  sorrow  is  unknown; 
No  traveller  ever  reach'd  that  blest  abode, 
Wlio  found  not  thorns  and  briers  in  his  road. 


420  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  world  may  dance  along  the  flowery  plain, 

Cheer'd  as  they  go  by  many  a  sprightly  strain, 

Where  Nature  has  her  mossy  velvet  spread, 

"With  unshoc«l  feet  they  yet  securely  tread ; 

Admonish'd,  scorn  the  caution  and  the  friend, 

Bent  all  on  pleasure,  heedless  of  its  end. 

But  He,  who  knew  what  human  hearts  would  prove 

How  slow  to  learn  the  dictates  of  his  love, 

That,  hard  by  nature,  and  of  stubborn  will, 

A  life  of  ease  would  make  them  harder  still, 

In  pity  to  tlie  souls  his  grace  designed 

To  rescue  from  the  ruins  of  mankind, 

Caird  for  a  cloud  to  darken  all  their  years. 

And  said, ''  Go,  spend  them  in  the  vale  of  tears." 

O  balmy  gales  of  soul-reviving  air ! 

O  salutary  streams,  that  murmur  there! 

These  flowing  from  the  fount  of  grace  above. 

Those  breathed  from  lips  of  everlasting  love. 

The  flinty  soil  indeed  their  feet  annoys ; 

Chill  blasts  of  trouble  nip  their  springing  joys  ; 

An  envious  world  Avill  interpose  its  frown. 

To  mar  delights  superior  to  its  own  ; 

And  many  a  pang,  experienced  still  within, 

Reminds  them  of  their  hated  inmate,  Sin : 

But  ills  of  every  shape  and  every  name, 

Transform'd  to  blessings,  miss  their  cruel  aim  : 

And  every  moment's  calm,  that  soothes  the  breast, 

Is  given  in  earnest  of  eternal  rest. 

Ah,  be  not  sad,  although  thy  lot  be  cast 
Far  from  the  flock,  and  in  a  boundless  waste ! 
No  shepherd's  tents  within  thy  view  appear. 
But  the  Chief  Shepherd  even  there  is  near ; 
Thy  tender  sorrows  and  thy  plaintive  strain 
Flow  in  a  foreign  land,  but  not  in  vain ; 
Thy  tears  all  issue  from  a  source  divine. 
And  every  drop  bespeaks  a  Saviour  thine — 
So  once  in  Gideon's  fleece  the  dews  were  found, 
And  drought  on  all  the  drooping  herbs  around. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  421 

CATHARINA. 

ADDRESSED  TO  MISS  STAPLETON  (AFTERWARDS  MRS.   COURTENAY). 

She  came — she  is  gone — we  have  met — 

And  meet  perhaps  never  again ; 
The  sun  of  that  moment  is  set, 

And  seems  to  have  risen  in  vain. 
Catharina  has  fled  like  a  dream 

(So  vanishes  pleasure,  alas!) — 
But  has  left  a  regret  and  esteem 

That  Avill  not  so  suddenly  pass. 

The  last  evening  ramble  we  made, 

Catharina,  Maria,  and  I, 
Our  progress  was  often  delayed 

By  the  nightingale  warbling  nigh. 
We  paused  under  many  a  tree. 

And  much  she  w^as  charm'd  with  a  tone, 
Less  sweet  to  Maria  and  me, 

"Who  so  lately  had  witness'd  her  own. 

My  numbers  that  day  she  had  sung, 

And  gave  them  a  grace  so  divine, 
As  only  her  musical  tongue 

Could  infuse  into  numbers  of  mine. 
The  longer  I  heard,  I  esteemed 

The  work  of  my  fancy  the  more, 
And  even  to  myself  never  seem'd 

So  tuneful  a  poet  before. 

Though  the  pleasures  of  London  exceed 

In  number  the  days  of  the  year, 
Catharina,  did  nothing  impede. 

Would  feel  herself  happier  here ; 
For  the  close-woven  arches  of  limes 

On  the  banks  of  our  river,  I  know, 
Are  sweeter  to  her  many  times   ' 

Than  auglit  that  the  city  can  show. 

So  it  is  when  the  mind  is  endued 

With  a  well-judging  taste  from  above ; 

Then,  whether  embellish'd  or  rude, 

'Tis  Nature  alone  that  we  love. 

36 


422  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  achievements  of  Art  may  amuse, 
May  even  our  wonder  excite ; 

But  gix)ves,  hills,  and  valleys  diffuse 
A  lasting,  a  sacred  delight. 

Since  then  in  the  rural  recess 

Catharina  alone  can  rejoice. 
May  it  still  be  her  lot  to  possess 

The  scene  of  her  sensible  choice ! 
To  inhabit  a  mansion  remote 

From  the  clatter  of  street-pacing  steeds, 
And  by  Philomel's  annual  note 

To  measure  the  life  that  she  leads. 

"With  her  book,  and  her  voice,  and  her  lyre, 
To  wing  all  her  moments  at  home ; 

And  with  scenes  that  new  rapture  inspire, 
As  oft  as  it  suits  her  to  roam ; 

She  will  have  just  the  life  she  prefers, 
With  little  to  hope  or  to  fear, 

And  ours  would  be  pleasant  as  hers, 
•     Might  we  view  her  enjoying  it  here. 


CATPIARINA. 

THE  SECOND  PART.    ON  HER  MARRIAGE  TO  GEORGE  COURTENAY,  ESQ. 

Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  choose. 

The  doctrine  is  certainly  true. 
That  the  future  is  known  to  the  Muse, 

And  poets  are  oracles  too. 
I  did  but  express  a  desire 

To  see  Catharina  at  home. 
At  the  side  of  my  friend  George's  fire, 

And  lo! — she  is  actually  come! 

Such  prophecy  some  may  despise, 

But  the  wish  of  a  poet  and  friend 
Perhaps  is  approved  in  the  skies. 

And  therefore  attains  to  its  end. 
'Twas  a  wish  that  flew  ardently  forth 

From  a  bosom  effectually  warm'd  i 

With  the  talents,  the  graces,  and  worth, 

Of  the  person  for  whom  it  was  form'd. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  423 

Maria^  would  leave  us,  I  knew, 

To  the  grief  and  regret  of  us  all, 
But  less  to  our  grief,  could  we  view 

Oatharina  the  Queen  of  the  Hall. 
And  therefore  I  wish'd  as  I  did. 

And  therefore  this  union  of  hands : 
I^ot  a  whisper  was  heard  to  forbid, 

But  all  cry — Amen — to  the  bans. 

Since,  therefore,  I  seem  to  incur 

No  danger  of  wishing  in  vain 
When  making  good  wishes  for  her, 

I  will  e'en  to  my  wishes  again  ;— 
AVith  one  I  have  made  her  a  wife, 

And  now  I  will  try  with  another. 
Which  I  cannot  suppress  for  my  life — 

How  soon  I  can  make  her  a  mother. 
June,  1792. 


THE  MOIlx\LIZER  CORRECTED.— A  TALE. 

A  HERMIT  (or  if  'chance  you  hold 

That  title  now  too  trite  and  old), 

A  man,  once  young,  who  lived  retired 

As  hermit  could  have  well  desired, 

His  hours  of  study  closed  at  last. 

And  finish'd  his  concise  repast, 

Stoppled  his  cruse,  replaced  his  book 

Within  its  customary  nook, 

And,  staff  in  hand,  set  forth  to  share 

The  sober  cordial  of  sw^eet  air. 

Like  Isaac,  with  a  mind  applied 

To  serious  tliought  at  evening-tide. 

Autumnal  rains  had  made  it  chill. 

And  from  the  trees,  that  fringed  his  hill, 

Shades  slanting  at  the  close  of  day, 

Chill'd  more  his  else  delightful  way. 

Distant  a  little  mile  he  spied 

A  w^estern  bank's  still  sunny  side. 

And  riglit  toward  the  favor'd  plac^ 

Proceeding  with  his  nimblest  pace, 

1  Lady  Throckmorton. 


424  cowper's  poetical  works. 

In  hope  to  bask  a  little  yet, 
Just  reacli'd  it  when  tlie  sun  was  set. 
Your  hermit,  young  and  jovial  sirs! 
Learns  something  from  whatever  occurs- 
And  hence,  he  said,  my  mind  computes 
The  real  worth  of  man's  pursuits. 
His  object  chosen,  wealth  or  fame, 
Or  other  sublunary  game. 
Imagination  to  his  view 
Presents  it  deck'd  with  every  hue, 
That  can  deduce  him  not  to  spare 
His  powers  of  best  exertion  there. 
But  youth,  health,  vigor  to  expend 
On  so  desirable  an  end. 
Ere  long  approach  life's  evening  shades, 
The  glow  that  fancy  gave  it  fades ; 
And,  earn'd  too  late,  it  Avants  the  grace 
That  first  engaged  him  in  the  chase. 

True,  answer'd  an  angelic  guide, 
Attendant  at  the  senior's  side — 
.  But  whether  all  the  time  it  cost 
To  urge  the  fruitless  chase  be  lost, 
Must  be  decided  by  the  worth 
Of  tliat  which  call'd  his  ardor  forth. 
Trifles  pursued,  whate'er  the  event. 
Must  cause  him  shame  or  discontent ; 
A  vicious  object  still  is  worse. 
Successful  there,  he  wins  a  curse ; 
But  he,  whom  even  in  life's  last  stage 
Endeavors  laudable  engage. 
Is  paid  at  least  in  peace  of  mind. 
And  sense  of  having  well  design'd ; 
And  if,  ere  he  attain  his  end, 
His  sun  precipitate  descend, 
A  brighter  prize  than  that  he  meant 
Shall  recompense  his  mere  intent. 
jN"o  virtuous  wish  can  bear  a  date 
Either  too  early  or  too  late. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  425 


THE  FAITHFUL  BIRD. 

The  greenhouse  is  my  summer  seat ; 
My  siirubs  displaced  from  that  retreat 

Enjoy'd  the  open  air ; 
Two  goldfinches,  whose  sprightly  song 
Had  been  their  mutual  solace  long, 

Lived  happy  prisoners  there. 

They  sang  as  blithe  as  finches  sing, 
That  flutter  loose  on  golden  w^ing, 

And  frolic  w^here  they  list ; 
Strangers  to  liberty,  'tis  true. 
But  that  delight  they  never  knew, 

And  therefore  never  miss'd. 

But  N'ature  works  in  every  breast, 
With  force  not  easily  suppressed ; 

And  Dick  felt  some  desires, 
That,  after  many  an  effort  vain, 
Instructed  him  at  length  to  gain 

A  pass  between  his  w^ires. 

The  open  windows  seem'd  to  invite 
The  freeman  to  a  farewell  flight ; 

But  Tom  was  still  confined : 
And  Dick,  although  his  w^ay  was  clear, 
Was  much  too  generous  and  sincere 

To  leave  his  friend  behind. 

So  settling  on  his  cage,  by  play. 

And  chirp,  and  kiss,  he  seem'd  to  say^ 

You  must  not  live  alone : 
Nor  would  he  quit  that  chosen  stand 
Till  I,  with  slow  and  cautious  hand, 

Keturn'd  him  to  his  own. 

O  ye,  who  never  taste  the  joys 
Of  friendship,  satisfied  with  noise, 

Fandango,  ball,  and  rout ! 
Blush  when  I  tell  you  how  a  bird 
A  prison  with  a  friend  preferr'd 

To  liberty  without. 


426  cowper's  poetical  works. 


THE  NEEDLESS  ALARM. 


There  is  a  field,  tliroiigh  which  I  often  pass, 
Thick  overspread  with  moss  and  silky  grass, 
Adjoining  close  to  Kilwick's  echoing  wood, 
"Where  oft  the  bitch-fox  hides  her  hapless  brood, 
Keserved  to  solace  many  a  neighboring  squire, 
That  he  may  follow  them  through  brake  and  brier, 
Contusion  hazarding  of  neck,  or  spine, 
Which  rural  gentlemen  call  sport  divine. 
"^  A  narrow  brook,  by  rushy  banks  conceaPd, 
Runs  in  a  bottom,  and  divides  the  field ; 
Oaks  intersperse  it,  that  had  once  a  head. 
But  now  wear  crests  of  oven- wood  instead ; 
And  where  the  land  slopes  to  its  watery  bourn 
Wide  yawns  a  gulf  beside  a  ragged  thorn ; 
Bricks  line  the  sides,  but  shiver'd  long  ago, 
And  horrid  brambles  intertwine  below ; 
•A  hollow  scoop'd,  I  judge,  in  ancient  time. 
For  baking  earth,  or  burning  rock  to  lime. 

Not  yet  the  hawthorn  bore  her  berries  red. 
With  which  the  fieldfare,  wintry  guest,  is  fed ; 
Nor  Autumn  yet  had  brush'd  from  every  spray, 
With  her  chill  hand,  the  mellow  leaves  away ; 
But  corn  was  housed,  and  beans  were  in  the  stack. 
Now  therefore  issued  forth  the  spotted  pack, 
AVith  tails  high  mounted,  ears  hung  low,  and  throats 
With  a  whole  gamut  fiU'd  of  heavenly  notes. 
For  which,  alas !  my  destiny  severe, 
Though  ears  she  gave  me  two,  gave  me  no  ear. 

The  sun,  accomplishing  his  early  march. 
His  lamp  now  planted  on  Heaven's  topmost  arch. 
When,  exercise  and  air  my  only  aim. 
And  heedless  whither,  to  that  field  I  came, 
Ere  yet  with  ruthless  joy  the  happy  hound 
Told  hill  and  dale  that  Reynard's  track  was  found. 
Or  with  the  high-raised  horn's  melodious  clang 
•  All  Kilwick  and  all  Dinglederry^  rang. 

^"Kilwick"  and  "  Dingledeny :"  two  woods  belonging  to  John  Throck- 
morton, Esq. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  427 

Sheep  grazed  the  iiehl :  some  with  soft  bosom  prcss'd 
The  herb  as  soft,  while  nibbHng  stray'd  the  rest; 
Nor  noise  was  heard  but  of  the  hasty  brook, 
Struggling,  detain'd  in  many  a  petty  nook. 
All  seem'd  so  peaceful,  that,  from  them  convey'd, 
To  me  their  peace  by  kind  contagion  spread. 

But  when  the  huntsman,  with  distended  cheek, 
'Gan  make  his  instrument  of  music  speak. 
And  from  within  the  wood  that  crash  was  heard. 
Though  not  a  hound  from  Avhom  it  burst  appear'd, 
The  sheep  recumbent  and  the  sheep  that  grazed, 
All  huddling  into  phalanx,  stood  and  gazed, 
Admiring,  terrified,  the  novel  strain. 
Then  coursed  the  field  around,  and  coursed  it  round  again; 
But  recollecting,  with  a  sudden  thought. 
That  flight  in  circles  urged  advanced  them  naught, 
They  gather'd  close  around  the  old  pit's  brink, 
And  thought  again — but  knew  not  wiiat  to  think. 

The  man  to  solitude  accustomed  long. 

Perceives  in  every  thing  that  lives  a  tongue ; . 

N"ot  animals  alone,  but  shrubs  and  trees 

Have  speech  for  him,  and  understood  with  ease ; 

After  long  drought,  when  rains  abundant  fall, 

He  hears  the  herbs  and  flowers  rejoicing  all ; 

Knows  what  the  freshness  of  their  hue  implies, 

How  glad  they  catch  the  largess  of  tlie  skies; 

But,  with  precision  nicer  still,  the  mind 

He  scans  of  every  locomotive  kind ; 

Birds  of  all  feather,  beasts  of  every  name, 

That  serve  mankind,  or  shun  them,  wild  or  tame ; 

The  looks  and  gestures  of  their  griefs  and  fears 

Have  all  articulation  in  his  ears ; 

He  spells  them  true  by  intuition's  light. 

And  needs  no  glossary  to  set  him  riglit. 

This  truth  premised  was  needful  as  a  text, 
To  win  due  credence  to  what  follows  next. 

Awhile  they  mused ;  surveying  every  face. 
Thou  hadst  supposed  them  of  superior  race ; 
Their  periwigs  of  wool  and  fears  combined, 
Stamp'd  on  each  countenance  such  marks  of  mind, 
That  sage  they  seem'd,  as  lawyers  o'er  a  doubt, 
Which,  puzzling  long,  at  last  they  puzzle  out ; 
Or  academic  tutors,  teaching  youths, 


428  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Sure  ne'er  to  want  tlieni,  matliematic  truths ; 
When  thus  a  mutton  statelier  than  the  rest, 
A  ram,  the  ewes  and  wethers  sad  address'd : 

Friends !  we  have  lived  too  long.     I  never  heard 
Sounds  such  as  these,  so  worthy  to  be  fear'd. 
Could  I  believe  tliat  winds  for  ages  pent 
In  earth's  dark  womb  have  found  at  last  a  vent, 
And  from  tlieir  prison-house  beloAv  arise, 
"With  all  these  hideous  howhngs  to  the  skies, 
I  could  be  much  composed,  nor  should  appear, 
For  such  a  cause  to  feel  the  slightest  fear. 
Yourselves  liave  seen,  what  time  the  thunders  roll'd 
All  night,  me  resting  quiet  in  the  fold. 
Or  heard  Ave  that  tremendous  bray  alone, 
I  could  expound  the  melancholy  tone ; 
Should  deem  it  by  our  old  companion  made. 
The  ass;  for  he,  Ave  knoAV,  has  lately  stray'd. 
And,  being  lost,  perhaps,  and  Avandering  Avide, 
Might  be  supposed  to  clamor  for  a  guide. 
But  ah !  those  dreadful  yells  Avhat  soul  can  hear, 
That  OAvns  a  carcase,  and  not  quake  for  fear  ? 
Demons  produce  them  doubtless,  brazen-claAv'd 
And  fang'd  Avitli  brass  the  Demons  are  abroad ; 
1  hold  it  therefore  Avisest  and  most  fit 
That,  life  to  save,  wo  leap  into  the  pit. 

Ilim  answer'd  then  his  loving  mate  and  true, 
But  more  discreet  than  he,  a  Cambrian  ewe. 

How !  leap  into  the  pit  our  life  to  save  ? 
To  save  our  life  leap  all  into  the  graA^e  ? 
For  can  AA^e  find  it  less?     Contemplate  first 
The  depth  hoAV  awful !  falling  there,  Ave  burst : 
Or  should  the  brambles,  interposed,  our  fall 
In  part  abate,  that  happiness  Avere  small; 
For  with  a  race  like  theirs  no  chance  I  see 
Of  peace  or  ease  to  creatures  clad  as  Ave. 
Meantime,  noise  kills  not.  .  Be  it  Dapple's  bray. 
Or  be  it  not,  or  be  it  Avhose  it  may, 
And  rush  those  other  sounds,  that  seem  by  tongues 
Of  Demons  utter'd,  from  Avhatever  lungs ; 
Sounds  are  but  sounds,  and,  till  the  cause  appear, 
AVe  liaA^e  at  least  commodious  standing  here ; 
Come  fiend,  come  fury,  giant,  monster,  blast 
From  earth  or  hell,  Ave  can  but  i^luuge  at  last. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  429 

AVhile  thus  she  spake,  I  fainter  heard  the  peals, 
For  Keynard,  close  attended  at  his  lieels 
By  panting  dog,  tired  man,  and  spatter'd  horse, 
Through  mere  good  fortune,  took  a  different  course. 
The  flock  grew  calm  again,  and  I,  the  road 
Following,  that  led  me  to  my  own  abode, 
Much  wonder'd  that  the  silly  sheep  had  found 
Such  cause  of  terror  in  an  empty  sound. 
So  sweet  to  huntsman,  gentleman,  and  hound. 


Beware  of  desperate  steps.     The  darkest  day. 
Live  till  to-morrow,  will  have  passed  away. 


THE  RECEIPT  01^  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE 

OUT  OF   NORFOLK, 
THE    GIFT    OF    MY    COUSIN,  ANN    BODHAM. 

[J,  that  those  lips  had  language!     Life  has  pass'd 
r^ith  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
^Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see. 
The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me ;  y  | 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 
''Grieve  not,  my  child,  chase  all  thy  fears  away!" 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 
(Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize,    . 
The  art  that  bafBes  Time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it!)  here  shines  on  me  still  the  same. 
Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here! 
Who  bidd'st  me  honor  with  an  artless  song. 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long, 

1  will  obey,  not  wiUingly  alone, 

But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own: 
And,  Avhile  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief. 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief — 
Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  reverie, 
A  momentary  dream,  that  thou  art  she. 

My  mother!  when  I  learn'd  that  thou  wast  dea^d, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  slied  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  431 

l^e'er  rouglien'd  by  tliose  cataracts  and  breaks 
That  humor  interposed  too  often  makes ; 
All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 
And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age,  • 

Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Sjich4i-twK>iv^.Ui -tliee  as  my  numbers  may_; 
.JEei:l4Apo  a  iViiii  inouiorial,  but siacare,^         ^ 
.JN".Qt.sconr(l  ill  licaveu,  tlK)ugli.]jttle  nQtjc§.i  here.^ 

Could  Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hours, 
When,  ])laying  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  tlowers. 
The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 
I  prick'd  them  into  paper  with  a  pin 
(x\nd  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while, 
Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head,  and  smile), — 
Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear. 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  w^ould  1  wish  them  here  ? 
I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 
Seems  so  to  be  desired,  perhaps  I  might. — 
But  no — what  here  we  coll  our  life  is  such. 
So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much. 
That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark  from  Albion's  coasi      / 
(The  storms  all  weather'd  and  the  ocean  cross'o), 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well^haven'd  isle 
Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smile, 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods,  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
While  airs  impregnated  wuth  incense  play  ,^^y, 

Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay; 
So  thou,  with  sails  how^ s w[fy_  ha§l-X£XLck'.d.ili£..&lipre^^ 
"  Where  tempests  never  T^eat  nor  billows  roar  ;"^^ 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life,  long  since  has  anchor'd  by  thy  side. 
Bat  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest. 
Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distressed — 
Me  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest-toss'd,  / 

Sails  ripp'd,  seams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost, 
And  day  by  day  sonu?  current's  thwarting  force 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course. 
But  oil,  the  thought,  that  thou  art  safe,  and  helj] 
That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  what  may  to  me.       /; 
1  Garth. 


432  cowper's  poetical  wopcKS. 

My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise — 

"*• — ^he  son  of  parents  pass'd  into  the  skies. 

And  now,  farewell — Time  unrevoked  has  run 
His  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wish'd  is  done. 
By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  to  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again; 
ffo  have  renew'd  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 

^•^fWithout  the  sin  of  violating  thine  ; 

And,  while  the  wings  of  fancy  still  are  free, 
And  1  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee, 
Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft —         v/ 
Thyself  removed,  thy  i)ower  to  soothe  me  left. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

1782. 

Amicitia  nisi  inter  bonos  esse  non  potest.— Cicero, 

"What  virtue,  or  Avhat  mental  grace, 
But  men  unqualified  and  base 

Will  boast  it  their  possession  ? 
Profusion  apes  the  noble  part 
Of  liberality  of  heart. 

And  dullness  of  discretion. 

If  every  polish'd  gem  we  lind, 
Illuminating  heart  or  miiul, 

Provoke  to  imitation ; 
Ko  wonder  friendship  does  the  same, 
That  jewel  of  the  purest  flame, 

Or  rather  constellation. 

No  knave  but  boldly  will  pretend 
The  requisites  that  form  a  friend, 

A  real  and  a  sound  one ; 
Nor  any  fool,  he  would  deceive, 
But  prove  as  ready  to  believe^ 

And  dream  tjiat  he  had  found  one. 

Candid,  and  generous,  and  just. 
Boys  care  but  little  whom  they  trust, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  433 

An  error  soon  corrected — 
For  wlio  but  learns  in  riper  years 
That  man,  wlien  sniootliest  lie  appears, 

Is  most  to  be  suspected  ? 

But  here  again  a  danger  lies, 
Lest,  having  misapplied  our  eyes, 

And  taken  trash  for  treasure, 
We  should  unwarily  conclucle 
Friendship  a  false  ideal  good, 

A  mere  Utopian  pleasure. 

An  acquisition  rather  rare 
Is  yet  no  subject  of  despair;  ' 

Sfor  is  it  wise  complaining. 
If,  either  on  forbidden  ground, 
Or  where  it  was  not  to  be  found, 

We  sought  without  attaining. 

'No  friendship  will  abide  the  test, 
That  stands  on  sordid  interest. 

Or  mean  self-love  erected ; 
Nor  such  as  may  awhile  subsist 
Between  the  sot  and  sensualist. 

For  vicious  ends  connected. 

Who  geeks  a  friend  should  come  disposed 
To  exhibit,  in  full  bloom  disclosed, 

The  graces  and  the  beauties 
That  form  the  character  he  seeks ; 
For  'tis  a  union  that  bespeaks 

Reciprocated  duties. 

Mutual  attention  is  implied, 
And  equal  trutli  on  either  side, 

And  constantly  supported ; 
'Tis  senseless  arrogance  to  accuse 
Another  of  sinister  views, 

Our  own  as  much  distorted. 

But  will  sincerity  suffice  ? 
It  is  indeed  above  all  price. 

And  must  be  made  the  basis ; 
But  every  virtue  of  the  soul 
Must  constitute  the  charming  whole, 

All  shining  in  their  places. 
37 


434  cowper's  foetical  works. 

A  fretful  temper  will  divide 

The  closest  knot  that  may  be  tied, 

By  ceaseless  sharp  corrosion ; 
A  temper  passionate  and  fierce 
May  suddenly  your  joys  disperse 

At  one  immense  explosion. 

In  vain  the  talkative  unite 

In  hopes  of  permanent  delight : 

The  secret  just  committed, 
Forgetting  its  important  weight, 
They  drop  through  mere  desire  to  prate, 

And  by  themselves  outwitted.  *     - 

How  bright  soe'er  the  prospect  seems, 
All  thoughts  of  friendship  are  but  dreams, 

If  envy  chance  to  creep  in ; 
An  envious  man,  if  you  succeed, 
May  ]3rove  a  dangerous  foe  indeed, 

But  not  a  friend  worth  keeping. 

As  envy  pines  at  good  possess'd, 
So  jealousy  looks  forth  distress'd 

On  good  that  seems  approaching ; 
And,  if  success  his  steps  attend. 
Discerns  a  rival  in  a  friend. 

And  hates  him  for  encroaching. 

Hence  authors  of  illustrious  name, 
Unless  belied  by  common  fame, 

Are  sadly  prone  to  quarrel ; 
To  deem  the  wit  a  friend  displays 
A  tax  upon  their  own  just  praise, 

And  pluck  each  other's  laurel. 

A  man  renown'd  for  repartee 
Will  seldom  scruple  to  make  free 

With  friendship's  finest  feeling ; 
Will  thrust  a  dagger  at  your  breast, 
And  say  he  wounded  you  in  jest, 

By  way  of  balm  for  healing. 

Whoever  keeps  an  open  ear 
For  tattlers,  will  be  sure  to  hear     . 
The  trumpet  of  contention ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  435 

Aspersion  is  tlie  babbler's  trade, 
To  listen  is  to  lend  him  aid, 
And  rush  into  dissension. 

A  friendship  that  in  frequent  fits 
Of  controversial  rage  emits 

The  sparks  of  disputation, 
Like  hand-in-hand  insurance-plates, 
Most  unavoidably  creates, 

The  thought  of  conflagration. 

Some  fickle  creatures  boast  a  soul 
True  as  a  needle  to  the  pole. 

Their  humor  yet  so  various : 
They  manifest  their  whole  life  through 
The  needle's  deviations  too, 

Their  love  is  so  precarious. 

The  great  and  small  but  rarely  meet 
On  terms  of  amity  complete ; 

Plebeians  must  surrender, 
And  yield  so  much  to  noble  folk, 
It  is  combining  fire  with  smoke. 

Obscurity  with  splendor. 

Some  are  so  placid  and  serene 
(x\s  Irish  bogs  are  always  green), 

They  sleep  secure  from  waking; 
And  are  indeed  a  bog,  that  bears 
Your  unparticipated  cares 

Unmoved  and  without  quaking. 

Courtier  and  patriot  cannot  mix 
Their  heterogeneous  politics 

Without  an  efiervescence, — 
Like  that  of  salts  with  lemon  juice, 
"Which  does  not  yet  like  that  produce 

A  friendly  coalescence. 

Religion  should  extinguish  strife, 
And  make  a  calm  of  human  life ; 

But  friends  that  chance  to  differ 
On  points  which  God  has  left  at  large, 
How  freely  will  they  meet  and  charge! 

No  combatants  are  stiffer. 


436  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  prove  at  last  my  main  intent 
Needs  no  expense  of  argument, 

No  cutting  and  contriving — 
Seeking  a  real  friend,  we  seem 
To  adopt  the  chemist's  golden  dream, 

With  still  less  hope  of  thriving. 

Sometimes  the  fault  is  all  our  own. 
Some  blemish  in  due  time  made  known 

By  trespass  or  omission  ; 
Sometimes  occasion  brings  to  light 
Our  friend's  defect,  long  hid  from  ^ght 

And  even  from  suspicion. 

Then  judge  yourself,  and  prove  your  man 
As  circumspectly  as  you  can, 

And,  having  made  election. 
Beware  no  negligence  of  yours, 
Such  as  a  friend  but  ill  endures, 

Enfeeble  his  affection. 

That  secrets  are  a  sacred  trust. 

That  friends  should  be  sincere  and  just, 

That  constancy  befits  them — 
Are  observations  on  the  case, 
That  savor  much  of  commonplace, 

And  all  the  world  admits  them. 

But  'tis  not  timber,  lead,  and  stone. 
An  architect  requires  alone 

To  finish  a  fine  building — 
The  palace  were  but  half  complete, 
If  he  could  possibly  forget 

The  carving  and  the  gilding. 

The  man  that  hails  you  Tom  or  Jack, 
And  proves  by  thumps  upon  your  back 

How  he  esteems  your  merit. 
Is  such  a  friend,  that  one  had  need 
Be  very  much  his  friend  indeed 

To  pardon  or  to  bear  it. 

As  similarity  of  mind. 
Or  something  not  to  be  defined, 
First  fixes  our  attention ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  437 

* 

So  manners  decent  and  polite, 
The  same  we  practised  at  first  sight, 
Must  save  it  from  declension. 

Some  act  upon  this  prudent  plan, 
*'Say  little,  and  hear  all  you  can;" 

Safe  policy,  but  hateful : 
So  barren  sands  imbibe  the  shower, 
But  render  neither  fruit  nor  flower, 

Unpleasant  and  ungrateful. 

The  man  I  trust,  if  shy  to  me. 
Shall  find  me  as  reserved  as  he, 

No  subterfuge  or  pleading 
Shall  win  my  confidence  again ; 
I  will  by  no  means  entertain 

A  spy  on  my  proceeding. 

These  samples — for,  alas !  at  last 
These  are  but  samples,  and  a  taste 

Of  evils  yet  unmention'd — 
May  prove  the  task  a  task  indeed, 
In  which  'tis  much  if  we  succeed, 

However  well  intentionVI. 

Pursue  the  search,  and  you  will  find 
Good  sense  and  knowledge  of  mankind 

To  be  at  least  expedient. 
And,,  after  summing  all  the  rest, 
Rehgion  ruling  in  the  breast 

A  principal  ingredient. 

The  noblest  Friendship  ever  shown 
The  Saviour's  history  makes  known. 

Though  some  have  turn'd  and  turn'd  it; 
And,  whether  being  crazed  or  blind, 
Or  seeking  with  a  bias'd  mind, 

Have  not,  it  seems,  discerned  it. 

O  Friendship !  if  my  soul  forego 
Thy  dear  delights  while  here  below, 

To  mortify  and  grieve  me. 
May  1  myself  at  last  appear 
Unworthy,  base,  and  insincere. 

Or  may  my  friend  deceive  me ! 


438  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

« 

ON  A  MISCHIEVOUS  BULL 

WHICH   THE    OWNER    OF   HIM   SOLD  AT    THE   AUTHOR's    INSTANCE. 

Go !  thou  art  all  unfit  to  share 

The  pleasures  of  this  place, 
With  such  as  its  old  tenants  are, 

Creatures  of  gentler  race. 

The  squirrel  here  his  hoard  provides. 
Aware  of  wintry  storms ; 

^ And  woodpeckers  explore  the  sides 

Of  rugged  oaks  for  worms. 

The  sheep  here  smooths  the  knotted  thorn 

With  frictions  of  her  fleece ; 
And  here  I  wander  eve  and  morn, 

Like  her,  a  friend  to  peace. 

Ah ! — I  could  pity  thee  exiled 

From  this  secure  retreat — 
I  would  not  lose  it  to  be  styled 

The  happiest  of  the  great. 

But  thou  canst  taste  no  calm  delight ; 

Thy  pleasure  is  to  show 
Thy  magnanimity  in  fight, 

Thy  prowess — therefore,  go ! 

I  care  not  whether  east  or  north. 

So  I  no  more  may  find  thee ; 
The  angry  Muse  thus  sings  thee  forth, 

And  claps  the  gate  behind  thee. 


ANNUS  MEMORABILIS,  1789. 

WEITTEN  IN  COMMEMORATION  OF  IIIS  MAJESTt's  HAPPY  RECOVERY. 

I  RANSACKED  for  a  theme  of  song. 
Much  ancient  chronicle,  and  long ; 
I  read  of  bright  embattled  fields, 
Of  trophied  helmets,  spears,  and  shields, 
Of  chiefs,  whose  single  arm  could  boast 


.     MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  439 

Prowess  to  dissipate  a  host ; 
Through  tomes  of  fable  and  of  dream 
I  sought  an  eligible  theme, 
But  none  I  found,  or  found  them  shared 
Already  by  some  happier  bard. 

To  modern  times,  with  truth  to  guide 
My  busy  search,  I  next  applied ; 
Here  cities  won,  and  fleets  dispersed, 
Urged  loud  a  claim  to  be  rehearsed. 
Deeds  of  unperishing  renown. 
Our  fathers'  triumphs  and  our  OAvn. 

Thus  as  the  bee,  from  bank  to  bower, 
Assiduous  sips  at  every  flower, 
But  rests  on  none  till  that  be  found 
Where  most  nectareous  sweets  abound, 
So  I,  from  theme  to  theme  display'd 
In  many  a  page  historic,  stray'd. 
Siege  after  siege,  fight  after  fight. 
Contemplating  with  small  delight 
(For  feats  of  sanguinary  hue 
STot  always  glitter  in  my  view). 
Till,  settling  on  the  current  year, 
I  found  the  far-sought  treasure  near, 
A  theme  for  poetry  divine, 
A  theme  to  ennoble  even  mine. 
In  memorable  eighty-nine. 

The  spring  of  eighty-nine  shall  be 
An  era  cherish'd  long  by  me, 
"Which  joyful  I  will  oft  record. 
And  thankful  at  my  frugal  board ; 
For  then  the  clouds  of  eighty-eight. 
That  threaten'd  England's  trembling  state 
With  loss  of  what  she  least  could  spare. 
Her  Sovereign's  tutelary  care. 
One  breath  of  Heaven,  that  cried — Restore ! 
Chased,  never  to  assemble  more : 
And  for  the  richest  crown  on  earth. 
If  valued  by  its  wearer's  worth. 
The  symbol  of  a  righteous  reign 
Sat  fast  on  George's  brows  again. 

Then  peace  and  joy  again  possess'd 
Our  Queen's  long-agitated  breast ; 
Such  joy  and  peace  as  can  be  known 


440  cowper's  poetical  works. 

By  sufferers  like  herself  uione, 
Who  losing,  or  supposing  ^ost, 
The  good  on  earth  they  valued  most, 
For  that  dear  sorrow's  sake  forego 
All  hope  of  happiness  below. 
Then  suddenly  regain  the  prize, 
And  flash  thanksgivings  to  the  skies ! 

O  Queen  of  Albion,  queen  of  isles ! 
Since  all  thy  tears  were  changed  to  smiles, 
The  eyes,  that  never  saw  thee,  ^hine 
With  joy  not  unallied  to  thine ; 
Transports  not  chargeable  with  art 
Illume  the  land's  remotest  part, 
And  strangers  to  the  air  of  courts, 
Both  in  their  toils  and  at  their  sports, 
The  happiness  of  answer'd  prayers, 
Tliat  gilds  thy  features,  show  in  theirs. 

If  they  who  on  thy  state  attend. 
Awe-struck,  before  thy  presence  bend, 
'Tis  but  the  natural  efiect 
Of  grandeur  that  insures  respect  • 
But  she  is  something  more  than  Queen 
Who  is  beloved  where  never  seen. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  AT  BATH,  ON  FINDING  THE 
HEEL  OF  A  SHOE. 

Fortune  !  I  thank  thee :  gentle  goddess !  thanks ! 

ITot  that  my  Muse,  though  bashful,  shall  deny 

She  would  have  thank'd  thee  rather  hadst  thou  cast 

A  treasure  in  her  way' ;  for  neither  meed 

Of  early  breakfast,  to  dispel  the  fumes,  » 

And  bowel-racking  pains  of  emptiness, 

'Nov  noontide  feast,  nor  evening's  cool  repast, 

Hopes  she  from  this — presumptuous,  though,  perhaps, 

The  cobbler,  leather-carving  artist !  might. 

Nathless  she  thanks  thee,  and  accepts  thy  boon. 

Whatever ;  not  as  erst  the  fabled  cock. 

Vain-glorious  fool !  unknowing  what  he  found, 

Spurn'd  the  rich  gem  thou  gavest  him.    Wherefore,  ah ! 

Why  not  on  me  that  favor  (worthier  sure  !) 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  441 

Conferi'dst  thou,  goddess  !    Thou  art  blind,  thou  say'st . 
Enough  ! — thy  blindness  shall  excuse  the  deed. 

Nor  does  my  Muse  no  benefit  exhale 
From  this  thy  scant  indulgence! — even  here 
Hints  worthy  sage  philosophy  are  tbund , 
Illustrious  hints,  to  moralize  my  song.' 
This  ponderous  heel  of  perforated  hide 
Compact,  with  pegs  indented,  many  a  row, 
Haply  (for  such  its  massy  form  bespeaks). 
The  weighty  tread  of  some  rude  peasant  clown 
Upbore:  on  this,  supported  oft,  he  stretch 'd, 
With  uncouth  strides,  along  the  furrow'd  glebe, 
Flattening  the  stubborn  clod,  till  cruel  Time 
(What  will  not  cruel  Time?)  on  a  Avry  step 
Sever'd  the  strict  cohesion  ;  when,  alas ! 
He,  who  could  erst,  with  even,  equal  pace, 
Pursue  his  destined  way  with  symmetry, 
And  some  proportion  form'd,  now  on  one  side 
Curtail'd  and  maim'd,  the  sport  of  vagrant  boys, 
Cursing  his  frail  supporter,  treacherous  prop ! 
"With  toilsome  steps,  and  difficult,  moves  on. 
Thus  fares  it  oft  with  other  than  the  feet 
Of  humble  villager — the  statesman  thus. 
Up  the  steep  road  where  proud  ambition  leads, 
Aspiring,  first  uninterrupted  winds 
His  prosperous  way ;  nor  fears  miscarriage  foul, 
While  pohcy  prevails,  and  friends  prove  true ; 
But,  that  support  soon  failing,  by  him  left 
On  whom  he  most  depended, — basely  left, 
Betray'd,  deserted, — from  his  airy  height 
Headlong  he  falls ;  and  through  the  rest  of  life 
Drags  the  dull  load  of  disappointment  on. 

1748. 


A  HYMN,» 

FOR  THE  USE  OF  THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  AT  OLNEY. — JULY,  1790. 

Hear,  Lord,  the  song  of  praise  and  prayer 
In  heaven  thy  dwelling-place,  ' 

1  Written  at  the  request  of  Rev.  James  Bean,  Vicar  of  Olney,  to  bo  sung 
by  the  children  there  after  a  charity  sermon. 


442  cowper's  poetical  works. 

From  infants  made  the  public  care, 
And  tauglit  to  seek  thy  face ! 

Thanks  for  thy  Word  and  for  thy  Day ; 

And  grant  us,  we  implore, 
Never  to  waste  in  sinful  play 

Thy  holy  Sabbaths  more. 

Thanks  that  we  hear — ^but  oh !  impart 

To  each  desires  sincere. 
That  we  may  listen  with  our  heart. 

And  learn  as  well  as  hear. 

For  if  vain  thoughts  the  mind  engage 

Of  older  far  than  we, 
What  hope,  that,  at  our  heedless  age, 

Our  minds  should  e'er  be  free? 

Much  hope,  if  thou  our  spirits  take 
Under  thy  gracious  sway. 

Who  canst  the  wisest  wiser  make. 
And  babes  as  wise  as  they. 

Wisdom  and  bliss  thy  Word  bestows, 
A  sun  that  ne'er  declines ; 

And  be  thy  mercies  shower'd  on  those 
Who  placed  us  where  it  shines ! 


STANZAS 


SUBJOINED  TO  THE  YEARLY  BILL  OF  MORTALITY  OF  THE  PARISH  OF 
ALL-SAINTS,  NORTHAMPTON,  ANNO  DOMINI,  17S7. 

(Composed  for  Joha  Cos,  Parish  Clerk  of  Northampton.) 

Pallida  mors  sequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas, 

Regumqiie  turres. — Horace. 
Pale  Death  with  equal  foot  strikes  wide  the  door 
Of  royal  halls  and  hovels  of  the  poor. 

While  thirteen  moons  saw  smoothly  run 

The  IN'en's  barge-laden  wave, 
All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done, 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  443 

Was  man  (frail  always)  made  more  frail 

Than  in  foregoing  years  ? 
Did  famine  or  did  plague  prevail, 

That  so  much  death  appears  ? 

]S"o ;  these  were  vigorous  as  their  sires, 

E'or  plague  nor  famine  came  ; 
This  annual  trihute  Death  requires, 

And  never  waives  his  claim. 

Like  crowded  forest-trees  we  stand, 

And  some  are  mark'd  to  fall ; 
The  axe  will  smite  at  God's  command. 

And  soon  shall  smite  us  all. 

Green  as  the  hay-tree,  ever  green, 

"With  its  new  foliage  on, 
The  gay,  the  thoughtless,  have  I  seen  : 

I  pass'd — and  they  were  gone. 

Read,  ye  that  run,  the  awful  truth 

With  which  I  charge  my  page ! 
A  worm  is  in  the  hud  of  youth. 

And  at  the  root  of  age. 

1^0  present  health  can  health  insure 

For  yet  an  hour  to  come  ; 
Ko  medicine,  though  it  oft  can  cure. 

Can  always  balk  the  tomb. 

And  oh  that,  humble  as  my  lot,  . 

And  scorn'd  as  is  my  strain. 
These  truths,  tliough  known,  too  much  forgot, 

I  may  not  teach  in  vain ! 

So  prays  your  Clerk  with  all  his  heart. 

And,  ere  he  quits  the  pen. 
Begs  you  for  once  to  take  his  part, 

And  answer  all — Amen ! 


444  cowper's  poetical  works. 

ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  THE  YEAR  178S. 

Quod  adest,  memento 
Componere  asquus.     Caetera  flnminis 
•    Ritu  feruutur.— Horace. 
Improve  the  present  hour,  for  all  beside 
Is  a  mere  feather  ou  a  torrent's  side. 

Could  I,  from  Heaven  inspired,  as  sure  presage 
To  whom  the  rising  year  shall  prove  his  last, 
As  I  can  number  in  my  punctual  page. 
And  item  down  the  victims  of  the  past ; 

How  each  would  trembling  wait  the  mournful  sheet, 
On  which  the  press  might  stamp  him  next  to  die ; 
And,  reading  here  his  sentence,  how  replete 
With  anxious  meaning,  heavenward  turn  his  eye ! 

Time  then  would  seem  more  precious  than  the  joys 
In  which  he  sports  away  the  treasure  now ; 
And  prayer  more  seasonable  than  the  noise 
Of  drunkards,  or  the  music-drawing  bow. 

Then  doubtless  many  a  trifler,  on  the  brink 
Of  this  world's  hazardous  and  headlong  shore, 
Forced  to  a  pause,  would  feel  it  good  to  think, 
Told  that  his  setting  sun  must  rise  no  more. 

Ah,  self-deceived !     Could  I  prophetic  say 
"Who  next  is  fated,  and  Avho  next  to  fall, 
The»rest  might  then  seem  privileged  to  play; 
But,  naming  none,  the  Voice  now  speaks  to  all. 

Observe  the  dappled  foresters,  how  light 
They  bound  and  airy  o'er  the  sunny  glade ; 
One  fails — the  rest,  wide  scatter'd  with  affright. 
Vanish  at  once  into  the  darkest  shade. 

Had  we  their  wisdom,  sliouid  we,  often  warn'd. 
Still  need  repeated  warnmgs,  and  at  last, 
A  thousand  awful  admonitions  scorn'd. 
Die  self-accused  of  life  run  all  to  waste  ? 

Sad  waste!  for  which  no  after-thrift  atones; 
The  grave  admits  no  cure  for  guilt  or  sin ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  445 

DeTvdrops  may  deck  the  turf  that  hides  the  bones, 
But  tears  of  godly  grief  ne'er  flow  within. 

Learn  then,  ye  living!  by  the  mouths  be  taught 
Of  all  these  sepulchres,  instructors  true, 
That,  soon  or  late,  death  also  is  your  lot, 
And  the  next  opening  grave  may  yawn  for  you. 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  THE  YEAR  17S9. 

— Placidaque  ibi  demum  morte  quievit.— Virg. 
There  culm  at  length  he  breathed  his  soul  away. 

"  On  most  delightful  hour  by  man 

Experienced  here  below. 
The  hour  that  terminates  his  span, 

His  folly  and  his  woe ! 

"  "Worlds  should  not  bribe  me  back  to  tread 

Again  life's  dreary  waste. 
To  see  again  my  day  overspread 

With  all  the  gloomy  past. 

'•'  My  home  henceforth  is  in  the  skies, 

Earth,  seas,  and  sun,  adieu ! 
All  heaven  unfolded  to  my  eyes, 

I  have  no  sight  for  you." 

So  spake  Aspasio,  firm  possess'd 

Of  faith's  supporting  rod. 
Then  breathed  his  soul  into  its  rest, 

The  bosom  of  his  God. 

He  was  a  man  among  the  few 

Sincere  on  virtue's  side ; 
And  all  his  strength  from  Scripture  drew, 

To  hourly  use  applied. 

That  rule  he  prized,  by  that  he  fear'd, 

He  hated,  hoped,  and  loved ; 
Nor  ever  frown'd,  or  sad  appear'd, 

But  when  his  heart  had  roved. 


446  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  he  was  frail  as  thou  or*I, 

And  evil  felt  within ; 
But  when  he  felt  it,  heaved  a  sigh, 

And  loathed  the  thought  of  sin. 

Such  lived  Aspasio,  and  at  last 
Caird  up  from  earth  to  heaven, 

The  gulf  of  death  triumphant  pass'd, 
By  gales  of  blessing  driven. 

His  joys  be  mine,  each  reader  cries, 
When  my  last  hour  arrives ' 

They  shall  be  yours,  my  verse  replies, 
Such  only  be  your  lives ! 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  THE  YEAR  1790. 

Ne  commonentem  recta  sperne.— Buchanan, 
Despise  not  my  good  counsel. 

He  who  sits  from  day  to  day 
Where  the  prison'd  lark  is  hung, 

Heedless  of  his  loudest  lay. 

Hardly  knows  that  he  has  sung. 

Where  the  watchman  in  his  round 
Nightly  lifts  his  voice  on  higli, 

[None,  accustomed  to  the  sound. 
Wakes  the  sooner  for  his  cry. 

So  your  verse-man  I,  and  Clerk, 
Yearly  in  my  song  proclaim 

Death  at  hand — yourselves  his  mark — 
And  tlie  foe's  unerring  aim. 

Duly  at  my  time  I  come, 

Publishing  to  all  aloud, — 
Soon  the  grave  must  be  your  home, 

And  your  only  suit,  a  shroud. 

But  the  monitory  strain, 

Oft  repeated  in  your  ears. 
Seems  to  sound  too  much  in  vain, 

Wins  no  notice,  wakes  no  fears. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Can  a  truth,  by  all  confess'd 
Of  such  magnitude  and  weight, 

Grow,  by  being  oft  impress'd, 
Trivial,  as  a  parrot's  prate? 

Pleasure's  call  attention  wins. 

Hear  it  often  as  Ave  may ; 
ISTew  as  ever  seem  our  sins. 

Though  committed  every  day. 

Death  and  Judgment,  Heaven  and  Hell- 

These  alone,  so  often  heard, 
!N'o  more  move  us  than  the  bell 

When  some  stranger  is  interr'd. 

Oh,  then,  ere  the  turf  or  tomb 

Cover  us  from  every  eye, 
Spirit  of  instruction,  come, 

Make  us  learn  that  Ave  must  die  I 


U1 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  THE  YEAR  1T92. 

Felix,  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere  causas, 

Atque  mctus  omnes  et  inexorabile  fatum 

Subjecit  pedibus,  strepitumque  Acherontis  avari  I— ViRG. 

Happy  the  mortal  who  has  traced  effects 

To  their  first  cause,  cast  fear  beneath  his  feet, 

And  Death  and  roaring  Hell's  voracious  tires  ! 

Thankless  for  favors  from  on  high, 
Man  thinks  he  fades  too  soon , 

Though  'tis  his  privilege  to  die, 
"Would  he  improve  the  boon. 

But  he,  not  wise  enough  to  scan 

His  blest  concerns  aright. 
Would  gladly  stretch  life's  little  span 

To  ages,  if  he  might : 

To  ages  in  a  Avorld  of  pain, 

To  ages,  Avhere  he  goes 
Gall'd  by  affliction's  lieavy  chain, 

And  hopeless  of  repose. 


448  cowper's  poetical  works. 

*  Strange  fondness  of  the  liunaan  heart, 

Enamor'd  of  its  harm ! 
Strange  world,  that  costs  it  so  much  smart, 
And  still  has  power  to  charm  ! 

"Whence  has  the  World  her  magic  power? 

Why  deem  we  Death  a  foe  ? 
Eecoil  from  weary  life's  hest  hour. 

And  covet  longer  woe  ? 

The  cause  is  Conscience — Conscience  oft 

Her  tale  of  guilt  renews : 
Her  voice  is  terrible  though  soft. 

And  dread  of  Death  ensues. 

Then  anxious  to  be  longer  spared, 
Man  mourns  his  fleeting  breath : 

All  evils  then  seem  light,  compared 
With  the  approach  of  Death. 

'Tis  judgment  shakes  him :  there's  the  fear 
That  prompts  the  wish  to  stay : 

He  has  incurred  a  long  arrear. 
And  must  despair  to  pay. 

Pay  ? — follow  Christ,  and  all  is  paid ; 

His  death  your  peace  insures ; 
Think  on  the  grave  where  He  was  laid, 

And  calm  descend  to  yours. 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  THE  YEAR  1793. 

I)e  sacris  autem  hsec  sit  una  sententia,  ut  conserventur.— Cic.  de  Leg. 

But  let  us  all  concur  in  this  one  sentiment,  that  things  sacred  be  inviolate. 

He  lives  who  lives  to  God  alone. 

And  all  are  dead  beside ; 
For  other  source  than  God  is  none 

Whence  life  can  be  supplied. 

To  live  to  God  is  to  requite 

His  love  as  best  we  may : 
To  make  his  precepts  our  delight. 

His  promises  our  stay. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS  449 

But  life,  witliin  a  narrow  ring 

Of  giddy  joys  comprised, 
Is  falsely  named,  and  no  such  thing, 

But  rather  death  disguised. 

Can  life  in  them  deserve  the  name, 

"Who  only  live  to  prove 
For  what  poor  toys  they  can  disclaim 

An  endless  life  above  ? 

"Who,  much  diseased,  yet  nothing  feel ; 

Much  menaced,  nothing  dread ; 
Have  wounds,  which  only  God  can  heal, 

Yet  never  ask  his  aid  ? 

"Who  deem  his  house  a  useless  place ; 

Faith,  want  of  common  sense ; 
And  ardor  in  the  Christian  race, 

A  hypocrite's  pretence  ? 

We  trample  order ;  and  the  day 

AVhich  God  asserts  his  own, 
Dishonor  with  unhallowed  play. 

And  worship  chance  alone  ? 

If  scorn  of  God's  commands,  impress'd 

On  word  and  deed,  imply 
The  better  part  of  man  unbless'd 

"With  life  that  cannot  die ; 

Such  want  it,  and  that  want  uncured 

Till  man  resigns  his  breath, 
Speaks  him  a  criminal,  assured 

Of  everlasting  death. 

Sad  period  to  a  pleasant  course ! 

Yet  so  will  God  repay 
Sabbaths  profaned  without  remorse, 

And  mercy  cast  away. 


450  COWPER*S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

t 

AN  ODE, 

ON  READING  RICHARDSON's  "  HISTORY  OF  SIR  CHARLES  GRANDISON." 

Sat,  ye  apostate  and  profane, 
Wretches,  who  blush  not  to  disdain 

Allegiance  to  your  God,— 
Did  e'er  your  idly  wasted  love 
Of  Virtue  for  her  sake  remove 

And  lift  you  from  the  crowd  ? 

Would  you  the  race  of  glory  run, 
Know,  the  devout,  and  they  alone, 

Are  equal  to  the  task : 
The  labors  of  the  illustrious  course 
Far  other  than  the  unaided  force 

Of  human  vigor  ask. 

To  arm  against  reputed  ill 

The  patient  heart  too  brave  to  feel 

The  tortures  of  despair : 
Nor  safer  yet  high-crested  pride, 
When  wealth  flows  in  with  every  tide 

To  gain  admittance  there ; — 

To  rescue  from  the  tyrant's  sword 
The  oppressed ;  unseen  and  unimplored, 

To  cheer  the  face  of  woe ; 
From  lawless  insult  to  defend 
An  orphan's  right — a  fallen  friend, 

And  a  forgiven  foe ; — 

These,  these  distinguish  from  the  crowd, 
And  these  alone,  the  great  and  good, 

The  guardians  of  mankind ; 
Whose  bosoms  with  these  virtues  heave, 
Oh,  with  what  matchless  speed  they  leave 

The  multitude  behind ! 

Then  ask  ye,  from  what  cause  on  earth 
Virtues  like  these  derive  their  birth  ? 

Derived  from  Heaven  alone. 
Full  on  that  favor'd  breast  they  shine, 
Where  faith  and  resignation  join 

To  call  the  blessing-  down. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  451 

Sucli  is  that  lieart : — ^but  while  the  Muse 
Thy  theme,  O  Richardson,  pursues, 

Her  feeble  spirits  faint ; 
She  cannot  reach,  and  would  not  wrong, 
The  subject  for  an  angel's  song, 

The  hero,  and  the  saint ! 

1753. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  LLOYD,  ESQ. 

'Tis  not  that  I  design  to  rob 

Thee  of  thy  birthright,  gentle  Bob, 

For  thou  art  born  sole  heir,  and  single, 

Of  dear  Mat  Prior's  easy  jingle ; 

Not  that  I  mean,  while  thus  I  knit 

My  threadbare  sentiments  together, 

To  show  my  genius  or  my  wit, 

"When  God  and  you  know  I  have  neither ; 

Or  such  as  might  be  better  shown 

By  letting  poetry  alone. 

'Tis  not  with  either  of  these  views 

Tliat  I  presumed  to  address  the  Muse : 

But  to  divert  a  fierce  banditti 

(Sworn  foes  to  every  thing  that's  witty!) 

That,  with  a  black,  infernal  train, 

Make  cruel  inroads  in  my  brain. 

And  daily  threaten  to  drive  thence 

My  little  garrison  of  sense ; 

The  fierce  banditti  which  I  mean 

Are  gloomy  thoughts  led  on  by  Spleen. 

Then  there's  another  reason  yet, 

"Which  is,  that  I  may  fairly  quit 

The  debt,  which  justly  became  due 

The  moment  when  I  heard  from  you ; 

And  you  might  grumble,  crony  mine, 

If  paid  in  any  other  coin ; 

Since  twenty  sheets  of  lead,  God  knows 

(I  would  say  twenty  sheets  of  prose). 

Can  ne'er  be  deem'd  worth  half  so  much 

As  one  of  gold,  and  yours  was  such. 

Thus,  the  preliminaries  settled, 


452  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  fairly  find  myself  pitchkettled/ 
And  cannot  see,  though  few  see  better, 
How  I  shall  hammer  out  a  letter. 

First,  for  a  thought — since  all  agree — 
A  thought — I  have  it — let  me  see — 
'Tis  gone  again — plague  on't!     I  thought 
I  liad  it — but  I  have  it  not. 
Dame  Gurton  thus,  and  Hodge  her  son, 
That  useful  thing,  her  needle,  gone ! 
Rake  well  the  cinders — sweep  the  floor, 
And  sift  the  dust  behind  the  door ; 
"While  eager  Hodge  beholds  the  prize 
In  old  grimalkin's  glaring  eyes ; 
And  Gammer  finds  it,  on  her  knees. 
In  every  shinmg  straw  she  sees. 
This  simile  were  apt  enough ; 
But  I've  another,  critic-proof! 
The  virtuoso  thus,  at  noon. 
Broiling  beneath  a  July  sun, 
The  gilded  butterfly  pursues. 
O'er  hedge  and  ditch,  through  gaps  and  mews ; 
And,  after  many  a  vain  essay. 
To  captivate  the  tempting  prey, 
Gives  him  at  length  the  lucky  pat, 
And  has  him  safe  beneath  his  hat  ; 
Then  lifts  it  gently  from  the  ground ; — 
But,  ah!  'tis  lost  as  soon  as  found; 
Culprit  his  liberty  regains. 
Flits  out  of  sight,  and  mocks  his  pains. 
The  sense  was  dark ;  'twas  therefore  fit 
With  simile  to  illustrate  it ; 
But  as  too  much  obscures  the  sight. 
As  often  as  too  little  light, 
"We  have  our  similes  cut  short. 
For.  matters  of  more  grave  import. 
That  Matthew's  numbers  run  with  ease, 
Each  man  of  common  sense  agrees  ! 
All  men  of  common  sense  allow 
That  Robert's  lines  are  easy  too : 

1  A  favorite  phrase  at  the  time  when  this  Epistle  was  written,  expres- 
sive of  being  puzzled,  or  what  in  the  "  SpectatorV  time  would  have  been 
called  bamboozled. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  453 

TVhere  then  the  preference  shall  we  place, 

Or  how  do  justice  in  this  case  . 

Matthew  (says  Fame),  with  endless  pains 

Smooth'd  and  refined  the  meanest  strams ; 

l^ov  sufFer'd  one  ill-chosen  rhyme 

To  escape  him  at  the  idlest  time ; 

And  thus  o'er  all  a  lustre  cast: 

That,  while  the  language  Hves,  shall  last. 

An't  please  3'our  ladyship  (quoth  I), 

For  'tis  my  business  to  reply. 

Sure  so  much  labor,  so  much  toil, 

Bespeak  at  least  a  stubborn  soil : 

Theirs  be  the  laurel-wreath  decreed, 

Who  both  write  well,  and  write  full  speed ! 

Who  throw  their  Helicon  about 

As  freely  as  a  conduit  spout ! 

Friend  Kobert,  thus  like  chieii  savant, 

Lets  fall  a  poem  en  jyassant, 

Kor  needs  his  genuine  ore  refine — 

'lis  ready  polish'd  from  the  mine. 


A  TALE,  FOUNDED  ON  A  FACT, 

WHICH  HAPPENED  IN  JAN.  1779. 

Where  Humber  pours  his  rich  commercial  stream 

There  dwelt  a  wretch,  who  breathed  but  to  blaspheme ; 

In  subterraneous  caves  his  life  he  led, 

Black  as  the  mine  in  which  he  wrought  for  bread. 

When  on  a  day,  emerging  from  the  deep, 

A  Sabbath-day  (such  Sabbaths  thousands  keep !), 

The  wages  of  his  weekly  toil  he  bore 

To  buy  a  cock — whose  blood  might  win  him  more ; 

As  if  the  noblest  of  the  feather'd  kind 

Were  but  for  battle  and  for  death  design'd , 

As  if  the  consecrated  hours  w^ere  meant 

For  sport,  to  minds  on  cruelty  intent. 

It  chanced  (such  chances  Providence  obey) 

He  met  a  fellow-laborer  on  the  w^ay, 

Whose  heart  the  same  desires  had  once  inflamed ; 

But  now  the  savage  temper  w^as  reclaim'd, 

Persuasion  on  his  lips  had  taken  place ; 


454  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  all  plead  well  who  plead  the  caiise  of  grace. 
His  iron  heart  with  Scripture  he  assail'd, 
"Woo'd  him  to  hear  a  sermon,  and  prevaiPd. 
His  faithful  bow  the  mighty  preacher  drew, 
Swift  as  the  lightning-glimpse  the  arrow  flew. 
He  wept ;  he  trembled ;  cast  his  eyes  around. 
To  find  a  worse  than  he ;  but  none  he  found. 
He  felt  his  sins,  and  wonderM  he  should  feel  : 
Grace  made  the  wound,  and  grace  alone  could  heal. 

Now  farewell  oaths,  and  blasphemies,  and  lies ! 
He  quits  the  sinner's  for  the  martyr's  prize. 
That  holy  day  was  wash'd  with  many  a  tear, 
Gilded  with  hope,  yet  shaded  too  by  fear. 
The  next,  his  swarthy  brethren  of  the  mine 
Learn'd,  by  his  alter'd  speech,  the  change  divine ! 
Laugh'd,  when  they  should  have  wept,  and  swore  the  day 
Was  nigh  when  he  would  swear  as  fast  as  they. 
"ISTo,"  said  the  penitent,  ^'such  words  shall  share 
This  breath  no  more — devoted  now  to  prayer. 
Oh !  if  Thou  seest  (thine  eye  the  future  sees) 
That  I  shall  yet  again  blaspheme,  like  these ; 
Now  strike  me  to  the  ground  on  which  I  kneel, 
Ere  yet  this  heart  relapses  into  steel ; 
Now  take  me  to  that  heaven  I  once  defied, 
Thy  presence,  thy  embrace!" — He  spoke,  and  died! 


TO  THE  REV.  MR.  NEWTON,  ON  HIS  RETURN 
FROM  RAMSGATE. 

That  ocean  you  have  late  survey'd, 

Those  rocks  I  too  have  seen ; 
But  I,  afflicted  and  dismay'd, 

You,  tranquil  and  serene. 

You  from  the  flood-controlling  steep 
Saw  stretch'd  before  your  view. 

With  conscious  joy,  the  threatening  deep, 
No  longer  such  to  you. 

To  me  the  waves,  that  ceaseless  broke 

Upon  the  dangerous  coast, 
Hoarsely  and  ominously  spoke 

Of  all  my  treasure  lost. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  455 

Your  sea  of  troubles  you  have  past, 

And  found  the  peaceful  shore  ; 
I,  tempest-toss'd,  and  wreck'd  at  last, 

Come  home  to  port  no  more. 
Oct.  1780. 


LOVE  ABUSED. 

What  is  there  in  the  vale  of  life 
Half  so  delightful  as  a  vs^ife, 
"When  frienclship,  love,  and  peace  combine 
To  stamp  the  marriage-bond  divine  ? 
The  stream  of  pure  and  genuine  love 
Derives  its  current  from  above ; 
And  earth  a  second  Eden  shows, 
Where'er  the  healing  water  flows  : 
But  ah,  if  from  the  dykes  and  drains 
Of  sensual  nature's  feverish  veins, 
Lust,  like  a  lawless  headstrong  flood, 
Impregnated  with  ooze  and  mud. 
Descending  fast  on  every  side. 
Once  mingles  with  the  sacred  tide, 
Farewell  the  soul-enlivening  scene! 
The  banks  that  wore  a  smiling  green, 
AVith  rank  defilement  overspread. 
Bewail  their  flowery  beauties  dead. 
The  stream  polluted,  dark,  and  dull. 
Diffused  into  a  Stygian  pool. 
Through  life's  last  melancholy  years 
Is  fed  with  overflowing  tears : 
Complaints  supply  the  zephyr's  part. 
And  sighs  that  heave  a  breaking  heart. 


A  POETICAL  EPISTLE  TO  LADY  AUSTEN. 

Dear  Anna, — Between  friend  and  friend. 
Prose  answers  every  common  end ; 
Serves,  in  a  plain  and  homely  way. 
To  express  the  occurrence  of  the  day  ; 
Our  health,  the  weather,  and  the  news  ; 
AYhat  walks  we  take,  what  books  we  choose ; 


456  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  all  the  floating  thouglits  w^  find 
Upon  the  surface  of  the  mind. 

But  when  a  poet  takes  the  pen, 
Far  more  alive  than  other  men, 
He  feels  a  gentle  tingling  come 
Down  to  his  finger  and  his  thumb. 
Derived  from  nature's  noblest  part, 
The  centre  of  a  glowing  heart : 
And  this  is  what  the  w^orld,  who  knows 
No  flights  above  the  pitch  of  prose. 
His  more  sublime  vagaries  slighting, 
Denominates  an  itch  for  writing. 
No  wonder  I,  who  scribble  rhyme 
To  catch  the  triflers  of  the  time, 
And  tell  them  truths  divine  and  clear, 
Which,  couch'd  in  prose,  they  will  not  hear ; 
Who  labor  hard  to  allure  and  draw 
The  loiterers  I  never  saw ; 
Should  feel  that  itching  and  that  tingling, 
With  all  my  purpose  intermingling. 
To  your  intrinsic  merit  true. 
When  call'd  to  address  myself  to  you. 

Mysterious  are  His  ways  whose  power 
Brings  forth  that  unexpected  hour. 
When  minds,  that  never  met  before, 
Shall  meet,  unite,  and  part  no  more : 
It  is  the  allotment  of  the  skies. 
The  hand  of  the  Supremely  Wise, 
That  guides  and  governs  our  affections. 
And  plans  and  orders  our  connections : 
Directs  us  in  our  distant  road. 
And  marks  the  bounds  of  our  abode. 
Thus  we  were  settled  when  you  found  us, 
Peasants  and  children  all  around  us, 
Not  dreaming  of  so  dear  a  friend, 
Deep  in  the  abyss  of  Silver-End.* 
Thus  Martha,  even  against  her  will, 
Perch'd  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill ; 
And  you,  though  you  must  needs  prefer 
The  fairer  scenes  of  sweet  Sancerre,^ 

J  An  obscure  part  of  Olney,  adjoining  to  the  residence  of  Cowper,  which 
faced  the  market-place. 
2  Lady  Austen's  residence  in  France. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  457 

Are  come  from  distant  Loire,  to  choose 
A  cottage  on  the  banks  of  Ouse. 
Tliis  page  of  Providence  quite  new, 
And  now  just  opening  to  our  view, 
Employs  our  present  thoughts  and  pains 
To  guess  and  spell  what  it  contains : 
But  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year, 
"Will  make  the  dark  enigma  clear ; 
And  furnish  us,  perhaps,  at  last, 
Like  other  scenes  already  past, 
With  proof,  that  we,  and  our  affairs, 
Are  part  of  a  Jehovah's  cares : 
For  God  unfolds  by  slow  degrees 
The  purport  of  his  deep  decrees ; 
Sheds  every  hour  a  clearer  light, 
In  aid  of  our  defective  sight ; 
And  spreads,  at  length,  before  the  soul, 
A  beautiful  and  perfect  whole, 
"Which  busy  man's  inventive  brain 
Toils  to  anticipate  in  vain. 

Say,  Anna,  had  you  never  known 
The  beauties  of  a  rose  full  blown. 
Could  you,  though  luminous  your  eye, 
By  looking  on  the  bud  descry. 
Or  guess  with  a  prophetic  power. 
The  future  splendor  of  the  flower  ? 
Just  so  the  Omnipotent,  who  turns 
The  system  of  a  world's  concerns, 
From  mere  minutisB  can  educe 
Events  of  most  important  use  ; 
And  bid  a  dawning  skydisplay 
The  blaze  of  a  meridian  day. 
The  works  of  man  tend,  one  and  all. 
As  needs  they  must,  from  great  to  small ; 
And  vanity  absorbs  at  length 
The  monuments  of  human  strength. 
But  who  can  tell  how  vast  the  plan 
Which  this  day's  incident  began  ? 
Too  small,  perhaps,  the  slight  occasion 
For  our  dim-sighted  observation ; 
It  pass'd  unnoticed,  as  the  bird 
That  cleaves  the  yielding  air  unheard. 
And  yet  may  prove,  when  understood, 
39 


458  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  harbinger  of  endless  good. 
— Not  that  I  deem,  or  mean  to  call, 
Friendship  a  blessing  cheap  or  small : 
But  merely  to  remark,  that  ours, 
Like  some  of  Nature's  sweetest  flowers, 
Rose  from  a  seed  of  tiny  size 
That  seem'd  to  promise  no  such  prize ; 
A  transient  visit  intervening, 
And  made  almost  without  a  meaning 
(Hardly  the  effect  of  inclination. 
Much  less  of  pleasing  expectation), 
Produced  a  friendship,  then  begun, 
That  has  cemented  us  in  one ; 
And  placed  it  in  our  power  to  prove 
By  long  fidelity  and  love. 
That  Solomon  has  wisely  spoken — 
"A  threefold  cord  is  not  soon  broken." 
Dec.  1781. 


THE  COLUBRIAD. 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nail'd  fast 

Three  kittens  sat ;  each  kitten  look'd  aghast. 

I,  passing  swift  and  inattentive  by. 

At  the  three  kittens  cast  a  careless  eye ; 

Not  much  concern'd  to  know  what  they  did  there ; 

Not  deeming  kittens  worth  a  poet's  care. 

But  presently  a  loud  and  furious  hiss 

Caused  me  to  stop  and  to  exclaim,  '' What's  this?" 

"When  lo !  upon  the  threshold  met  my  view,. 

With  head  erect,  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue, 

A  viper  long  as  Count  de  Grasse's  queue. 

Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws. 

Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose ; 

Who,  having  never  seen,  in  field  or  house, 

The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse; 

Only  projecting  with  attention  due. 

Her  whisker'd  face,  she  ask'd  him,  "  Who  are  you  ?" 

On  to  the  hall  went  I,  with  pace  not  slow, 

But  swift  as  lightning,  for  a  long  Dutch  hoe : 

With  which  well  arm'd  I  hasten'd  to  the  spot. 

To  find  the  viper,  but  I  found  him  not. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  459 

And,  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs  around, 

Found  only  that  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

But  still  the  kittens,  sitting  as  before, 

Sat  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the  door. 

^'I  hope,"  said  T,  'Hhe  villain  I  would  kill 

Has  slipp'd  between  the  door  and  the  door-sill ; 

And  if  I  make  dispatch,  and  follow  hard, 

No  doubt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  the  yard :" 

For  long  ere  now  it  should  have  been  rehearsed, 

'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  found  him  first. 

Even  there  I  found  him ;  there  the  full-grown  cat, 

His  head,  with  velvet  paw,  did  gently  pat; 

As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 

To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean. 

Fill'd  with  heroic  ardor  at  the  sight, 

And  feariug  every  moment  Ije  would  bite. 

And  rob  our  household  of  our  only  cat 

That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat ; 

With  outstretch'd  hoe  1  slew  him  at  the  door. 

And  taught  him  never  to  come  theke  no  more. 

1782. 


SONG      ON  PEACE. 

Written  in  the  summer  of  1783,  at  the  request  of  Lady  Austen,  who  gave 
the  sentiment. 

Aiu— "  My  fond  Shepherds  of  (ate.'' ^ 

No  longer  I  follow  a  sound ; 
No  longer  a  dream  I  pursue ; 

0  happiness!  not  to  be  found. 
Unattainable  treasure,  adieu ! 

1  have  sought  thee  in  splendor  and  dress, 

In  the  regions  of  pleasure  and  taste ; 

I  have  sought  thee,  and  seem'd  to  possess, 

But  have  proved  thee  a  vision  at  last. 

An  humble  ambition  and  hope 
The  voice  of  true  wisdom  inspires ; 

'Tis  sufticient,  if  peace  be  the  scope. 
And  the  summit  of  all  our  desires. 


460  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Peace  may  be  the  lot  of  the  mind  • 
That  seeks  it  in  meekness  and  love ; 

But  rapture  and  bliss  are  confined 
To  the  glorified  spirits  above. 


SONG. 

Also  written  at  the  request  cf  Lady  Austen. 
Air—'*  The  Lass  o'  Patie's  MilV* 

When  all  within  is  peace, 

How  Nature  seems  to  smile  I 
Delights  that  never  cease 

The  livelong  day  beguile. 
From  morn  to  dewy  eve 

"With  open  hand  she  showers 
Fresh  blessings,  to  deceive 

And  soothe  the  silent  hours. 

It  IS  content  of  heart 

Gives  Nature  power  to  please ; 
The  mind  that  feels  no  smart 

Enlivens  all  it  sees  ; 
Can  make  a  wintry  sky 

Seem  bright  as  smiling  May, 
And  evening's  closing  eye 

As  peep  of  early  day. 

The  vast  majestic  globe, 

So  beauteously  array'd 
In  Nature's  various  robe, 

"With  wondrous  skill  display'd, 
Is  to  a  mourner's  heart 

A  dreary  wild  at  best ; 
It  flutters  to  depart. 

And  longs  to  be  at  rest. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  4G1 

VERSES  SELECTED  FROM  AN  OCCASIONAL  POEM 
ENTITLED  ^VALEDICTION." 

O  Friendship  !  cordial  of  the  human  breast ! 
So  little  felt,  so  fervently  professed ! 
Thy  blossoms  deck  our  unsuspecting  years  ; 
The  promise  of  delicious  fruit  appears ; 
We  hug  the  hopes  of  constancy  and  truth, 
Such  is  the  tolly  of  our  dreaming  youth  ; 
But  soon,  alas !  detect  the  rash  mistake 
That  sanguine  inexperience  loves  to  make ; 
And  view  with  tears  the  expected  harvest  lost, 
Decay'd  by  time,  or  wither -d  by  a  frost. 
Whoever  undertakes  a  friend's  great  part 
Should  be  renewed  in  nature,  pure  in  heart, 
Prepared  fox  martyrdom,  and  strong  to  prove 
A  thousand  ways  the  force  of  genuine  love. 
He  may  be  call'd  to  give  up  health  and  gain. 
To  exchange  content  for  trouble,  ease  for  pain, 
To  echo  sigh  for  sigh,  and  groan  for  groan. 
And  wet  his  cheeks  with  sorrows  not  his  own. 
The  heart  of  man,  for  such  a  task  too  frail, 
"When  most  relied  on  is  most  sure  to  fail ; 
And,  summon'd  to  partake  its  fellow's  woe, 
Starts  from  its  office  like  a  broken  bow. 

Votaries  of  business  and  of  pleasure  prove 
Faithless  ahke  in  friendship  and  in  love. 
Eetired  from  all  the  circles  of  the  gay. 
And  all  the  crowds  that  bustle  life  away, 
To  scenes  where  competition,  envy,  strife. 
Beget  no  thunder-clouds  to  trouble  life — 
Let  me,  the  charge  of  some  good  angel,  find 
One  who  has  known,  and  has  escaped  mankind ; 
Pofite,  yet  virtuous,  who  has  brought  away 
The  manners,  not  the  morals,  of  the  day : 
With  him,  perhaps  with  her  (for  men  have  known 
No  firmer  friendships  than  tl'le  fair  have  shown). 
Let  me  enjoy,  in  some  unthought-of  spot. 
All  former  friends  forgiven  and  forgot, 
Down  to  the  close  of  life's  fast  fading  scene. 
Union  of  hearts  without  a  flaw  between. 
'Tis  grace,  'tis  bounty,  and  it  calls  for  praise, 
If  God  give  health,  that  sunshine  of  our  days ! 


462  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  if  ne  add,  a  blessing  shared  by  few, 
Content  of  heart,  more  praises  still  are  due — 
But  if  he  grant  a  friend,  that  boon  possess'd 
Indeed  is  treasure,  and  crowns  all  the  rest ; 
And  giving  one,  whose  heart  is  in  the  skies, 
Born  from  above  and  made  divinely  wise, 
He  gives,  what  bankrupt  Nature  never  can, 
"Whose  noblest  coin  is  light  and  brittle  man, 
Gold,  purer  far  than  Ophir  ever  knew — 
A  soul,  an  image  of  himself,  and  therefore  true. 
Nov.  1783. 


EPITAPH  ON  DR.  JOHNSON. 
Here  Johnson  lies — a  sage  by  all  allow'd. 
Whom  to  have  bred  may  well  make  England  proud ; 
Whose  prose  was  eloquence,  by  wisdom  taught. 
The  graceful  vehicle  of  virtuous  tliought ; 
Whose  verse  may  claim — grave,  masculine,  and  strong- 
Superior  praise  to  the  mere  poet's  song ; 
Who  many  a  noble  gift  from  Heaven  possess'd, 
And  faith  at  last,  alone  worth  all  the  rest. 
O  man,  immortal  by  a  double  prize. 
By  fame  on  earth — by  glory  in  the  skies ! 

Jan.  1785. 


TO  MISS  C ,  ON  aER  BIRTHDAY. 

How  many  between  east  and  west 

Disgrace  their  parent  earth. 
Whose  deeds  constrain  us  to  detest 

The  day  that  gave  them  birth ! 
Kot  so  when  Stella's  natal  morn 

Revolving  months  restore. 
We  can  rejoice  that  she  was  born, 

And  wish  her  born  once  more ! 
1786. 


GRATITUDE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  LADY  HESKETH. 

This  cap,  that  so  stately  appears. 
With  ribbon-bound  tassel  on  high, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  463 

Which  seems  by  the  crest  that  it  rears 

Ambitious  of  brushing  the  sky ; 
This  cap  to  my  cousin  1  owe ; 

She  gave  it,  and  gave  me  beside, 
Wreath'd  into  an  elegant  bow, 

The  ribbon  with  which  it  is  tied. 

This  wheel-footed  studying  chair, 

Contrived  both  for  toil  and  repose, 
Wide-elbow 'd,  and  wadded  with  hair, 

In  which  I  both  scribble  and  doze ; 
Bright-studded  to  dazzle  the  eyes, 

And  rival  in  lustre  of  that 
In  which,  or  Astronomy  lies 

Fair  Cassiopeia  sat : 

These  carpets  so  soft  to  the  foot, 

Caledonia's  traffic  and  pride ! 
Oh,  spare  them,  ye  knights  of  the  boot, 

Escaped  from  a  cross-country  ride ! 
This  table,  and  mirror  within. 

Secure  from  collision  and  dust ; 
At  which  I  oft  shave  cheek  and  chin. 

And  periwig  nicely  adjust : 

This  movable  structure  of  shelves, 

For  its  beauty  admired  and  its  use, 
And  charged  with  octavos  and  twelves, 

The  gayest  I  had  to  produce; 
Where,  flaming  in  scarlet  and  gold. 

My  poems  enchanted  1  view; 
And  hope  in  due  time,  to  behold 

My  Iliad  and  Odyssey  too : 

This  china,  that  decks  the  alcove, 

Which  here  people  call  a  buffet ; 
But  what  the  gods  call  it  above 

Has  ne'er  been  reveal'd  to  us  yet : 
These  curtains  that  keep  the  room  warm 

Or  cool,  as  the  season  demands ; 
Those  stoves  that  for  pattern  and  form 

Seem  the  labor  of  Mulciber's  hands : 

All  these  are  not  half  that  I  owe 
To  one,  from  our  earliest  youth. 


464  cowper's  poetical  w^drks. 

To  me  ever  ready  to  show 

•    Benignity,  friendship,  and  truth ; 

For  Time,  the  destroyer  declared 

And  foe  of  our  perishing  kind, 
If  even  her  face  he  has  spared. 

Much  less  could  he  alter  her  mind. 

Thus  compassVl  about  with  the  goods 

And  chattels  of  leisure  and  ease, 
I  indulge  my  poetical  moods 

In  many  such  fancies  as  these ; 
And  fancies  I  fear  they  will  seem — 

Poets'  goods  are  not  often  so  fine ; 
The  poets  will  swear  that  I  dream, 

When  I  sing  of  the  splendor  of  mine. 
1T86. 


LINES  COMPOSED  FOR  A  MEMORIAL  OF  ASHLEY 
COWPER,  ESQ. 

IMMEDIATELY  AFTER  HIS  DEATH,  BY  HIS  NEPHEW  WILLIAM  OF  WESTON. 

Farewell  !  endued  with  all  that  could  engage 
All  hearts  to  love  thee,  both  in  youth  and  age ! 
In  prime  of  life,  for  sprightliness  enroll'd 
Among  the  gay,  yet  virtuous  as  the  old ; 
In  life's  last  stage  (0  blessings  rarely  found !), 
Pleasant  as  youth  with  all  its  blossoms  crowh'd  ; 
Through  every  period  of  this  changeful  state 
Unchanged  thyself — wise,  good,  affectionate ! 

Marble  may  flatter,  and  lest  this  should  seem 
Overcharged  with  praises  on  so  dear  a  theme — 
Although  thy  worth  be  more  than  half  supprest, 
Love  shall  be  satisfied,  and  veil  the  rest. 
June,  1788. 


ON  THE   QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  LONDON, 

THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  17TH  OF  MARCH,  1789. 

"Whe^?",  long  sequester'd  from  his  tlirone, 

George  took  his  seat  again  ; 
By  right  of  worth,  not  blood  alone, 

Entitled  here  to  reign ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    TOEMS.  465 

Then  loyalty,  with  all  his  lamps 

New  trimm'd,  a  gallant  snow ! 
Chasing  the  darkness  and  tlie  damps, 

Set  London  in  a  glow. 

'Twas  hard  to  tell,  of  streets  or  squares 

Which  form'd  the  chief  display ; 
These  most  resembling  clustered  stars, 

Those  the  long  milky  way. 

Bright  shone  the  roofs,  the  domes,  the  spires ; 

And  rockets  flew,  self-driven, 
To  hang  their  momentary  fires 

Amid  the  vault  of  heaven. 

So,  fire  with  water  to  compare, 

The  ocean  serves,  on  high 
Up-spouted  by  a  whale  in  air. 

To  express  unwieldy  joy. 

Had  all  the  pageants  of  the  world 

In  one  procession  join \1, 
And  all  the  banners  been  unfurPd 

That  heralds  e'er  designed — 

For  no  such  sight  had  England's  Queen 

Forsaken  her  retreat. 
Where  George,  recover'd,  made  a  scene 

Sweet  always,  doubly  sweet. 

Yet  glad  she  came  that  night  to  prove, 

A  witness  undescried. 
How  much  the  object  of  her  love 

Was  loved  by  all  beside. 

Darkness  the  skies  had  mantled  o'er 

In  aid  of  her  design — 
Darkness,  O  Queen !  ne'er  call'd  before 

To  veil  a  deed  of  thine ! 

On  borrow'd  wheels  away  she  flies. 

Resolved  to  be  unknown, 
And  gratify  no  curious  eyes 

That  night  except  her  own. 


4QQ  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Arrived,  a  night  like  noon  she  sees, 
And  hears  the  niiUion  hum ; 

As  all  by  instinct,  like  the  bees. 
Had  known  their  sovereign  come. 

Pleased  she  beheld,  aloft  portray'd 
On  many  a  splendid  wall. 

Emblems  of  health  and  heavenly  aid, 
And  George  the  theme  of  all. 

Unlike  the  enigmatic  line. 

So  difficult  to  spell. 
Which  shook  Belshazzar  at  his  wine, 

The  night  his  city  fell. 

Soon  watery  grew  her  eyes  and  dim, 

But  with  a  joyful  tear ; 
[N'one  else,  except  in  prayer  for  him, 

George  ever  drew  from  her. 

It  was  a  scene  in  every  part 
Like  those  in  fable  feigned. 

And  seem'd  by  some  magician's  art 
Created  and  sustain  d. 

But  other  magic  there,  she  knew, 

Had  been  exerted  none. 
To  raise  such  wonders  in  her  view, 

Save  love  of  George  alone. 

That  cordial  thought  her  spirit  cheer'd, 
And,  througlj  the  cumbrous  throng, 

Not  else  unworthy  to  be  fearVl, 
Convey 'd  her  calm  along. 

So,  ancient  poets  say,  serene 
The  sea-maid  rides  the  waves ; 

And,  fearless  of  the  billowy  scen^, 
Her  peaceful  bosom  laves. 

"With  more  than  astronomic  eyes 

She  view'd  the  sparkling  show ; 
One  Georgian  star  adorns  the  skies, 
.  She  myriads  found  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  ^^5=^5=;:  467 


Yet  let  the  glories  of  a  night 
Like  that,  once  seen,  suffice ; 

Heaven  grant  us  no  such  future  sight, 
Such  previous  woe  the  price ! 


THE  COCK-FIGHTER'S  GARLAND.^ 

Muse — hide  his  name  of  whom  I  sing, 
Lest  his  surviving  house  thou  bring 

For  his  sake  into  scorn ; 
ISTor  speak  the  school  from  which  he  drew 
The  much  or  little  that  he  knew, 

ISTor  place  where  he  was  born. 

That  such  a  man  once  was,  may  seem 
"Worthy  of  record  (if  the  theme 

Perchance  may  credit  win) 
For  proof  to  man,  what  man  may  prove, 
If  grace  depart,  and  demons  move 

The  source  of  guilt  within. 

This  man  (for  since  the  howling  wild 
Disclaims  him,  man  he  must  be  styled) 

"Wanted  no  good  below ; 
Gentle  he  was,  if  gentle  birth 
Could  make  him  such,  and  he  had  worth, 

If  wealth  can  worth  bestow. 

1  "Written  on  reading  the  following,  in  tlie  obituary  of  the  *' Gentleman's 
!klagazine*'  for  April,  17S9:— "  At  Tottenham,  John  Ardesoif,  Esq.,  a  young 
nan  of  large  fortune,  and,  in  the  splendor  of  his  carriages  and  horses,  rivalled 
)y  few  country  gentlemen.  His  table  was  that  of  hospitality,  where.  >t  may 
)e  said,  he  sacrificed  too  much  to  conviviality  ;  but,  if  he  had  his  foibles,  he 
lad  his  merits  also,  that  far  outweighed  them.  Mr,  A.  was  very  fond  of 
;ock-fighting,  and  had  a  favorite  cock,  upon  which  he  had  won  many 
)rofitable  matches.  The  last  bet  he  laid  upon  this  cock  he  lost;  Avhich  so 
mraged  him,  that  he  had  the  bird  tied  to  a  spit  and  roasted  alive  before  a 
arge  fire.  The  screams  of  the  miserable  animal  were  so  affecting,  that 
iome  gentlemen  who  were  present  attempted  to  interfere,  which  so  en- 
•aged  Mr.  A.,  that  he  seized  a  poker,  and  with  the  most  furious  vehemence 
leclarcd,  that  he  would  kill  the  first  man  who  interposed;  but,  in  the  midst 
)f  his  passionate  asseverations,  he  fell  down  dead  upon  the  spot.  Such,  we 
ire  assured,  were  the  circumstances  which  attended  the  death  of  this  great 
pillar  of  humanity." 


468  cowper's  poetical  works. 

In  social  talk  and  ready  jest,  • 
He  shone  superior  at  the  feast ; 
And  qualities  of  mind, 
[  Illustrious  in  the  eyes  of  those 

"Whose  gay  society  lie  chose, 
Possess'd  of  every  kind. 

Methinks  I  see  him  powder'd  red, 
"With  bushy  locks  his  well-dress'd  head 

WingM  broad  on  either  side. 
The  mossy  rosebud  not  so  sweet ; 
His  steeds  superb,  his  carriage  neat, 

As  luxury  could  provide. 

Can  such  be  cruel  ?  Such  can  be 
Cruel  as  hell,  and  so  was  he ; 

A  tyrant  entertain'd 
"With  barbarous  sports,  whose  fell  delight 
Was  to  encourage  mortal  fight 

'Twixt  birds  to  battle  train'd. 

One  feather'd  champion  he  possess'd, 
His  darling  far  beyond  the  rest. 

Which  never  l^new  disgrace ; 
Kor  e'er  had  fought  but  he  made  flow 
The  life-blood  of  his  fiercest  foe. 

The  Coosar  of  .hia  race. 

It  chanced  at  last,  when,  on  a  day. 
He  push'd  him  to  the  desperate  fray, 

His  courage  droop'd,*he  fled. 
The  master  storm'd,  the  prize  was  lost" 
And,  instant,  frantic  at  the  cost. 

He  doom'd  his  favorite  dead. 

He  seized  him  fast,  and  from  the  pit 
Flew  to  the  kitchen,  snatch'd  the  spit, 

And,  "Bring  me  cord  !"  he  cried; 
The  cord  was  brought,  and,  at  his  word, 
To  that  dire  implement  the  bird. 

Alive  and  stragghng,  tied. 

The  horrid  sequel  asks  a  veil ; 
And  all  the  terrors  of  the  tale 
That  can  be  shall  be  sunk — 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  469 

Led  by  tlio  sutferei's  screams  aright, 
IJis  sliockM  coiMi (anions  view  the  sight, 

And  liini  with  tury  drunk.  ^ 

All,  suppliant,  beg  a  milder  fate  / 

For  the  old  warrior  at  the  grate: 

He,  deaf  to  pity's  call, 
Whirl'd  round  him  rapid  as  a  wheel 
IJis  culinary  club  of  steel — 

Death  menacing  on  all. 

But  vengeance  hung  not  far  remote ; 

For  while  he  stretch'd  his  clamorous  throat, 

And  Jieaven  and  earth  defied  — 
Big  with  a  curse  too  closely  pent, 
That  struggled  vainly  for  a  vent, 

lie  totterM,  reel'd,  and  died. 
'Tis  not  for  us,  with  rash  surmise, 
To  point  the  judgment  of  the  skies ; 

But  judgments  plain  as  this. 
That,  sent  for  man's  instruction,  bring 
A  written  label  on  their  wing, 

'Tis  hard  to  read  amiss. 

May,  1TS9. 

TO  WARREN  HASTINGS,  ESQ. 

BY    AN    OLD    SCHOOLFELLOW    OF    HIS    AT   WESTMINSTER.      ' 

Hastings!  I  knew  tliee  young,  and  of  a  mind, 
"While  young,  humane,  conversable,  and  kind  ; 
ISTor  can  I  well  believe  thee,  gentle  then, 
Now  grown  a  villain,  jand  tlie  worst  of  men. 
But  rather  some  suspect,  who  have  oppress'd 
And  worried  thee,  as  not  themselves  the  best. 


TO  MRS.  THROCKMORTON, 

N  HER  BEAUTIFUL  TRANSCRIPT  OF  HORACe's  ODE,  "  AD  LIBUUM  8UUM.' 

Makta,  could  Horace  have  guess'd 

What  honor  awaited  his  ode 
To  his  own  little  volume  addressed. 

The  honor  which  you  liave  bestow'd ; 
40 


470  COWPEIl's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Wlio  have  traced  it  in  characters  here, 

So  elegant,  even,  and  neat — 
He  had  hiiigh'd  at  the  critical  sneer 

Which  he  seems  to  have  trembled  to  meet. 

And  sneer,  if  you  please,  he  had  said, 

A  nymph  shall  hereafter  arise, 
AVlio  shall  give  me,  when  you  are  all  dead, 

The  glory  your  malice  denies ; 
Shall  dignity  give  to  my  lay. 

Although  but  a  mere  bagatelle; 
And  even  a  poet  shall  say, 

Nothing  ever  was  written  so  well. 

Feb.  1790. 


TO  THE  IMMORTAL  MEMORY  OF  THE  HALIBUT 

ON  WHICH  I  DINED  THIS  DAY,  MONDAY,  APRIL  2G,  1T84. 

"Where  hast  thou  floated,  in  what  seas  pursued 

Thy  pastime?  Avhen  wast  thou  an  Qgg  new  spawn'd. 

Lost  in  the  immensity  of  ocean's  waste  ? 

Roar  as  they  might,  the  overbearing  winds 

That  rock'd  the  deep,  thy  cradle,  thou  w^ast  safe — 

And  in  thy  minikin  and  embryo  state. 

Attached  to  the  firm  leaf  of  some  salt  weed. 

Didst  outlive  tempests,  such  as  w^rung  and  rack'd 

The  joints  of  many  a  stout  and  gallant  bark, 

And  wlielm'd  them  in  the  unexplored  abyss. 

Indebted  to  no  magnet  and  no  chart, 

Nor  under  guidance  of  the  polar  fire. 

Thou  wast  a  voyager  on  many  coasts. 

Grazing  at  large  in  meadows  submarine, 

Where  flat  Batavia,  just  emerging,  peeps 

Above  the  brine — where  Caledonia's  rocks 

Beat  back  the  surge — and  where  Ilibernia  shoots 

Her  wondrous  causeway  far  into  the  main. 

— Wherever  thou  hast  fed,  thou  little  thought'st, 

And  I  not  more,  that  I  should  feed  on  thee. 

Peace,  therefore,  and  good  health,  and  much  good  fish, 

To  him  who  sent  thee !  and  success,  as  oft 

-As  it  descends  into  the  billowy  gulf, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  -ill 

To  tlie  same  drag  that  caiiglit  thee! — Fare  thea  Avell! 
Thy  lot  tliy  brethren  of  the  slimy  fin 
Would  env}^,  could  they  know  that  thou  wast  doom'd 
To  feed  a  bard,  and  to  be  praised  in  verse. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  STONE 

ERECTED  AT  THE  SOWING  OF  A  GROVE  OF  OAKS  AT  CIIILLINGTON,  THE 
SEAT  OF  T.  GIFFARD,  ESQ.,  1790. 

Other  stones  the  era  tell 
"When  some  feeble  mortal  fell ; 
I  stand  here  to  date  the  birth 
Of  these  hardy  sons  of  eartli. 

AVhich  shall  longest  brave  the  sky, 
Storm  and  frost — these  oaks  or  I  ? 
Pass  an  age  or  two  away, 
I  must  moulder  and  decay ; 
But  the  years  that  crumble  me 
Shall  invigorate  the  tree. 
Spread  its  branch,  dilate  its  size, 
Lift  its  summit  to  the  skies. 

Cherish  honor,  virtue,  truth. 
So  shalt  thou  prolong  thy  youth! 
"Wanting  these,  however  fast 
Man  be  fix'd  and  form'd  to  last, 
lie  is  lifeless  even  now, 
Stone  at  heart,  and  cannot  grow. 

June,  1790. 


ANOTHER  INSCRIPTION 

FOR  A  STONE  ERECTED  ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION  AT  THE  SAME  PLACE 
IN  THE  FOLLOWING  YEAR. 

Keadek  !  behold  a  monument 

That  asks  no  sigh  or  tear, 
Though  it  perpetuate  the  event 

Of  a  great  burial  here. 

June,  1791. 


472  COWPEU'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


TO  MRS.  KING, 

ON  IIER  KIND  PRESENT  TO  THE  AUTHOR,  A  PATCHWORK  COUNTERPANE 
OF  HER  OWN  MAKING. 

TriE  bard,  if  e'er  lie  feel  at  all, 
Must  sure  be  quicken'd  by  a  call 

Both  on  his  heart  and  head, 
To  pay  with  tuneful  thanks  the  care 
And  kindness  of  a  lady  fair, 

Who  deigns  to  deck  his  bed. 

A  bed  like  this,  in  ancient  time, 
On  Ida's  barren  top  sublime 

(x\s  Homer's  epic  shows), 
Composed  of  SAveetest  vernal  flowers, 
Without  the  aid  of  sun  or  showers, 

For  Jove  and  Juno  rose. 

Less  beautiful,  however  gay, 

Is  that  which  in  the  scorching  day 

deceives  the  Aveary  swain. 
Who,  laying  his  long  scythe  aside, 
Sleeps  on  some  bank  Avith  daisies  pied, 

Till  roused  to  toil  again. 

What  labors  of  the  loom  I  see ! 

Looms  numberless  have  groan'd  for  me  1 

Should  every  maiden  come 
To  scramble  for  the  patch  that  bears 
The  impress  of  the  robe  she  wears, 

The  bell  would  toll  for  some. 

And  oh,  what  havoc  would  ensue ! 
Tliis  bright  display  of  every  hue 

All  in  a  moment  fled ! 
As  if  a  storm  should  strip  the  boAvers 
Of  all  their  tendrils,  leaves,  and  floAvers — 

Each  pocketing  a  shred. 

Thanks  then  to  every  gentle  fiiir 
AVho  Avill  not  come  to  peck  me  bare 

As  bird  of  borroAv'd  feather ; 
And  thanks  to  one  above  them  all, 
The  gentle  fair  of  Pertenhall, 

Who  put  the  Avhole  together! 
August,  1790. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  473 


IN  MEMORY  OF  TPIE  LATE  JOHN  THORNTON,  ESQ. 

Poets  attempt  tlie  noblest  task  they  can, 
Praising  tlie  Autlior  of  all  good  in  man, 
And,  next,  commemorating  worthies  lost. 
The  dead  in  whom  that  good  abounded  most. 

Thee,  therefore,  of  commercial  fame,  but  more 
Famed  for  thy  probity  from  shore  to  shore — 
Thfee,  Thornton !  worthy  in  some  page  to  shine, 
As  honest  and  more  eloquent  than  mine, 
I  mourn ;  or,  since  thrice  happy  thou  must  be, 
The  world,  no  longer  thy  abode,  not  thee. 
Thee  to  deplore  were  grief  misspent  indeed  ; 
It  were  to  weep  that  goodness  has  its  meed ; 
That  there  is  bliss  prepared  in  yonder  sky, 
And  glory  for  the  virtuous  when  they  die. 

What  pleasure  can  the  miser's  fondled  hoard, 
Or  spendthrift's  prodigal  excess  aiford. 
Sweet  as  the  privilege  of  healing  woo 
By  virtue  suffer'd  combating  below  ? 
That  privilege  was  thine ;  Heaven  gave  thee  means 
To  illumine  with  delight  the  saddest  scenes. 
Till  thy  appearance  chased  the  gloom,  forlorn 
As  midnight,  and  despairing  of  a  morn. 
Thou  hadst  an  industry  in  doing  good, 
Eestless  as  his  who  toils  and  sweats  for  food ; 
Avarice  in  thee  was  the  desire  of  wealth 
By  rust  unperishable  or  by  stealth ; 
And  if  the  genuine  Avorth  of  gold  depend 
On  application  to  its  noblest  end. 
Thine  had  a  value  in  the  scales  of  heaven 
Surpassing  all  that  mine  or  mint  had  given. 
And,  though  God  made  thee  of  a  nature  prone 
To  distribution  boundless  of  thy  OAvn, 
And  still  by  motives  of  religious  force 
Impell'd  thee  more  to  that  heroic  course — 
Yet  was  thy  liberality  discreet, 
Nice  in  its  choice,  and  of  a  temper'd  heat; 
And,  though  m  act  unwearied,  secret  still. 
As  in  some  soUtude  the  summer  rill 
Refreshes,  where  it  winds,  the  faded  green, 
And  cheers  the  drooping  flowers,  unheard,  unseen. 


4V4  COWPEr's    rOETICAL   "WORKS. 

Such  was  thy  charity :  no  sudden  start, 
After  long  sleep,  of  passion  in  tlie  heart ; 
But  steadfast  principle,  and,  in  its  kind, 
Of  close  relation  to  the  Eternal  Mind  ; 
Traced  easily  to  its  true  source  above, 
To  Him  Avhose  works  bespeak  his  nature,  Love. 

Thy  bounties  all  were  Christian,  and  I  make 
This  record  of  thee,  for  the  Gospel's  sake ; 
That  the  incredulous  themselves  may  see 
Its  use  and  power  exemplified  in  thee. 

Nov.  1790. 


THE  FOUR  AGES. 
(a  brief  fragment  of  an  extensive  projected  poem.) 

"  I  COULD  be  well  content,  allow'd  the  use 
Of  past  experience,  and  the  wisdom  glean'd 
Erom  worn-out  follies,  now  acknowledged  such, 
To  recommence  life's  trial,  m  the  hope 
Of  fewer  errors,  on  a  second  proof!" 

Thus,  Avhile  gray  evening  lull'd  the  wind,  and  call'd 
Eresh  odors  from  the  sln-ubbery  at  my  side. 
Taking  my  lonely  winding  walk,  I  mused. 
And  held  accustom'd  conference  with  my  heart ; 
When  from  within  it  thus  a  voice  replied : 

■'  Conldst  thou  in  triitli  ?  and  art  thou  taught  at  length 
This  wisdom,  and  but  this,  from  all  the  past  ? 
Is  not  the  pardon  of  thy  long  arrear — 
Time  wasted,  violated  laws,  abuse 
Of  talents,  judgment,  mercies,  better  far 
Than  opportunity  vouchsafed  to  err 
With  less  excuse,  and,  haply,  worse  effect?" 

I  heard,  and  acquiesced :  then  to  and  fro 
Oft  pacing,  as  the  mariner  his  deck. 
My  gravelly  bounds,  from  self  to  human  kind 
1  pass'd,  and  next  consider'd — what  is  man. 

Knows  he  his  origin?  can  he  ascend 
By  reminiscence  to  his  earliest  date  ? 
Slept  he  in  Adam  ?     And  in  those  from  him 
Through  numerous  generations,  till  he  found 
At  length  his  destined  moment  to  be  born  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    TOEMS.  475 

Or  Wcas  he  not,  till  fasfhion'd  in  the  womb? 

Deep  mysteries  both !  which  schoolmen  must  have  toil'd 

To  unriddle,  and  have  left  them  mysteries  still. 

It  is  an  evil  incident  to  man, 
And  of  the  worst,  that  unexplored  lie  leaves 
Truths  useful  and  attainable  with  ease. 
To  search  forbidden  deeps,  w^here  mystery  lies 
Not  to  be  solved,  and  useless  if  it  might. 
Mysteries  are  food  for  angels ;  they  digest 
With  ease,  and  lind  them  nutriment;  but  man. 
While  yet  he  dwells  below,  must  stoop  to  glean 
His  manna  from  the  ground,  or  starve  and  die. 

May,  1791. 


THE  RETIRED  CAT. 

A  poet's  cat,  sedate  and  grave 

As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 

"Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 

For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire, 

And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink, 

She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 

I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick — 

Nature  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
In  such  a  mould  philosophique, 

Or  else  she  learn'd  it  of  her  master. 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonair, 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork. 
She  watch \1  the  gardener  at  his  work ; 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering-pot : 
There,  wanting  nothing  save  a  fan, 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan 
Apparell'd  in  exactest  sort. 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change,  it  seems,  has  place 
Not  only  in.  our  wiser  race ; 
Oats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  slie. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind, 


416  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within : 
She  therefore  wish'd,  instead  of  those, 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind ; 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies'  use, 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open  in  the  topmost  chest. 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there : 
Puss,  with  delight  beyond  expression, 
Survey'd  the  scene,  and  took  possession. 
Eecumbent  at  her  ease,  ere  long, 
And  lull'd  by  her  own  humdrum  song. 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind. 

And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last ; 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined. 

The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast; 
By  no  mahgnity  impell'd, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

Awaken'd  by  the  shock  (cried  Puss), 
"  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  ? 
The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see. 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me ; 
For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed. 
Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
How  smooth  these  'kerchiefs,  and  how  sweet! 
Oh  what  a  delicate  retreat ! 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest. 
Till  Sol,  declining  in  the  west. 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  come  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 
And  Poss  remain'd  still  unattended. 
The  night  rolFd  tardily  away 
(With  her  indeed  'twas  never  day), 
The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renew'd, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  4:11 

The  evening  gray  again  ensued, 

And  Puss  came  into  mind  no  more 

Than  if  entoihb'd  the  day  before. 

AVith  hunger  pinch'd,  and  pincli'd  for  room, 

She  now  presaged  approaching  doom, 

Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  or  purr'd. 

Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurr'd. 

That  night,  by  chance,  the  poet  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat. 
And  to  himself  he  said— '' What's  that?" 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side. 
And  forth  he  peep'd,  but  nothing  spied. 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guess'd 
Something  imprison'd  in  the  chest ; 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 
Eesolved  it  should  continue  there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew, 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears, 
Consoled  him  and  dispell'd  his  fears : 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 
He  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore, 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 
The  rest  in  order  to  the  top. 
For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 
That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost — 
"We  seek  it,  ere  it  comes  to  light, 
In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 
Forth  skipp'd  the  cat,  not  now  replete 
As  erst  with  airy  self-conceit ; 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  apprehension 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention ; 
But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 
Her  notions  hyperbolical ; 
And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest 
Any  thing  rather  than  a  chest. 
Then  stepp'd  the  poet  into  bed, 
AVith  this  reflection  in  his  head : 

MORAL. 

BcTvare  of  too  sublime  a  sense 

Of  your  own  wortli  and  consequence . 


478  cowper's  poetical  works. 

» 

The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight, 
That  all  around,  in  all  that^s  done, 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone, 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 
1791. 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  THE  POETS. 

Two  lymphs,  both  nearly  of  an  age, 
Of  numerous  charms  possessed, 

A  warm  dispute  once  chanced  to  wage, 
AYhose  temper  was  the  best. 

The  worth  of  each  had  been  complete, 

Had  both  alike  been  mild : 
But  one,  although  her  smile  was  sweet, 

Frown'd  oftenfer  than  she  smiled. 

And  in  her  humor,  when  she  frown'd, 
Would  raise  her  voice,  and  roar. 

And  shake  with  fury  to  the  ground 
The  garland  that  she  wore. 

The  other  was  of  gentler  cast, 

From  all  such  frenzy  clear ; 
Her  frowns  were  seldom  known  to  last. 

And  never  proved  severe. 

To  poets  of  renown  in  song 

The  lN"ymphs  referred  the  cause ; 

Who,  strange  to  tell,  all  judged  it  wrong, 
And  gave  misplaced  applause. 

They  gentle  call'd,  and  kind  and  soft, 

The  flippant  and  the  scold  ; 
And  though  she  changed  her  mood  so  oft, 

That  faihng  left  untold. 

No  judges,  sure,  were  e'er  so  mad. 

Or  so  resolved  to  err — 
In  short,  the  charms  her  sister  had. 

They  lavish'd  all  on  her. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  479 

Then  thus  the  god,  whom  fondly  they 

Their  great  inspirer  call, 
Was  heard,  one  genial  summer^s  day, 

To  reprimand  them  all. 

'^  Since  thus  ye  have  combined,"  he  said, 

''My  favorite  Nymph  to  slight. 
Adorning  May,  that  peevish  maid, 

With  June's  undoubted  right, 

"  The  minx  shall,  for  your  folly's  sake, 

Still  prove  herself  a  shrew, 
Shall  make  your  scribbling  fingers  ache, 

And  pinch  your  noses  blue." 
May,  1791. 


YARDLEY  OAK.^ 

Survivor  sole,  and  hardly  such,  of  all 

That  once  lived  here,  thy  brethren;  at  my  birth 

(Since  which  I  number  threescore  winters  past), 

A  shatter'd  veteran,  hollow-trunk'd  perhaps. 

As  now,  and  with  excoriate  forks  deform ; 

Rehcs  of  ages!  could  a  mind,  imbued 

With  truth  from  Heaven,  created  thing  adore, 

I  might  -with  reverence  kneel,  and  worship  thee. 

It  seems  idolatry  with  some  excuse. 
When  our  forefixther  Druids  in  their  oaks 
Imagined  sanctity.     The  conscience,  yet 
Unpurified  by  an  authentic  act 
Of  amnesty,  the  meed  of  blood  divine. 
Loved  not  the  light,  but,  gloomy,  into  gloom 
Of  thickest  shades,  like  Adam  after  taste 
Of  fruit  proscribed,  as  to  a  refuge,  fled. 

Thou  wast  a  bauble  once,  a  cup  and  ball 
Which  babes  might  play  with  ;  and  the  thievish  jay\ 
Seeking  her  food,  with  ease  might  have  purloin'd 
The  auburn  nut  that  held  thee,  swallowing  down  / 
Thy  yet  close  folded  latitude  of  boughs,  y 

And  all  thine  embryo  vastness,  at  a  gulp. 

i  This  tree  had  been  known  by  the  name  o{  Judith  for  many  ages.  Per- 
haps it  received  that  name  an  bcin^  planted  by  the  Countess  Judith,  niece  to 
tlie  Conqueror,  whom  hsi  gave  in  marriage  to  tlie  English  Earl  Waltheof, 
with  the  counties  of  Northampton  and  Huntingdon  as  her  dower. 


480  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But  Fate  thy  growth  decreed  ;  antumnal  rains 
Beneatli  tliy  parent  tree  inellow'd  the  soil 
Besign'd  thy  cradle  ;  and  a  skipping  deer,  / 

AVith  pointed  hoof  dibbling  the  glebe,  prepared  ^ 
The  soft  receptacle,  in  which,  secure, 
Thy  rudiments  should  sleep  the  winter  through. 

So  Fancy  dreams.     Disprove  it,  if  you  can,  I 

^i  Yereasoa^  broad  awake,  whose  busy  searcli  \ 

I  Of  argunrent,  employed  too  oft  amiss,  I 

fiSifts  half  the  pleasures  of  short  life  away !         I 

Thou  fell'st  mature  ;  and,  in  the  loamy  clod 
Swelling  with  vegetative  force  instinct. 
Didst  burst  thine  egg^  as  theirs  the  fabled  Twins,' 
Now  stars  ;  two  lobes,  protruding,  paired  exact ; 
A  leaf  succeeded,  and  another  leaf. 
And,  all  the  elements  thy  puny  growth 
Fostering  propitious,  thou  becamest  a  twig. 

"Who  lived  when  thou  wast  such?  Oh,  couldst  thou  speak, 
As  in  Dodona  once  thy  kindred  trees 
Oracular,  I  would  not  curious  ask  \ 

/The  futui^e^Jj^tLUJikftowB,  but  at  thy  inou|h 
^  rnquisiti ve,  the  less  ambiguous  past. 

By  thee  I  might  correct,  erroneous  oft, 
The  clock  of  history,  facts  and  events 
Timing  more  punctual,  unrecorded  facts 
Eecovering,  and  misstated  setting  right — 
Desperate  attempt,  till  trees  shall  speak  again !  \ 

Time  made  thee  what  thou  wast,  king  of  the  woods^ 
And  time  hath  made  thee  what  thou  art — a  cave 
For  owls  to  roost  in.     Once  thy  spreading  boughs 
O'erhung  the  champaign  ;  and  the  numerous  flocks 
That  grazed  it  stood  beneath  that  ample  cope 
TJncrowded,  yet  safe  shelter'd  from  the  storm.  ; 

No  flock  frequents  thee  now.     Thou  hast  outlived  ^ 
Thy  popularity,  and  art  become 
(Unless  verse  rescue  thee  awhile)  a  thing 
Forgotten,  as  the  foliage  of  thy  yonth.  / 

While  thus  through  all  the  stages  thou  hasupushkl 
Of  treeship — first  a  seedling,  hid  in  grass ;    >J         / 
Then  twig ;  then  sapling ;  and,  as  century  rolVd  V 
Slow  after  century,  a  giant  bulk  -«^ 

Of  girth  enormous,  with  moss-cushion'd  root 
1  Castor  and  Follux. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POExMS.  '481 

Upheaved  above  the  soil,  and  sides  embossVl 
With  prominent  wens  gk)bose — till  at  the  last 
The  rottenness,  which  time  is  charged  to  inflic'f 
On  other  mighty  ones,  found  also  thee. 

What  exhibitions  various  hath  the  world 
Witness'd  of  mutability  in  all         ^ — 
That  we  accohht  mosTdurable  beloAV  I         ^^ 
Change  is  the  diet  on  which  all  subsist,    \f^ 
Created  changeable,  and  change  at  last 
Destroys  them.     Skies  uncertain  now  the  heat 
Transmitting  cloudless,  and  the  solar  beam 
Now  quenching  in  a  boundless  sea  of  clouds — 
Calm  and  alternate  storm,  moisture,  and  drought, 
Invigorate  by  turns  the  springs  of  life 
In  all  that  live,  plant,  animal,  and  man ; 
And  in  conclusion  mar  them.     Nature's  threads, 
Fine  passing  thought,  even  in  their  coarsest  works. 
Delight  in  agitation,  yet  sustain 
The  force  that  agitates  not  unimpaired ; 
But  worn  by  frequent  impulse,  to  tlie  cause 
Of  their  best  tone  their  dissolution  owe. 

Thought  cannot  spend  itself,  comparing  still (" 
The  great  and  little  of  thy  lot,  thy  growth        N 
From  almost  nullity  into  a  state  / 

Of  matchless  grandeur,  and  declension  thence,  \ 
Slow,  into  such  magnificent  decay.  / 

Time  was  Avhen,  settling  on  thy  leaf,  a  fly     \l 
Could  shake  thee  to  the  root — and  time  has  been 
When  tempests  could  not.     At  thy  firmest  age 
Thou  hadst  within  thy  bole  solid  contents 
That  might  have  ribb'd  the  sides  and  plank'd  the  deck 
Of  some  flagg'd  admiral ;  and  tortuous  arms. 
The  shipwright's  darling  treasure,  didst  present 
To  the  ibur-quarter'd  winds,  robust  and  bold, 
Warp'd  into  tough  knee -timber,*  many  a  load  ! 
But  the  axe  spared  thee.     In  tliose  thriftier  days 
Oaks  fell  not,  hewn  by  thousands,  to  supply 
The  bottomless  demands  of  contest  waged 
For  senatorial  honors.     Thus  to  Time       / 
The  task  was  left  to  whittle  thee  away    ^ 

1 -^^'Knee-timber"  is  found  in  the  crooked  arms  of  oak,  which,  by  reason 
of  their  distortion,  are  easily  a'ljusted  to  the  angle  formed  wliere  the  deck 
and  the  ship's  sides  meet. 

41 


482  cowper's  poetical  works. 

With  his  sly  scythe,  whose  ever-nibbhng  edge, 
Noiseless,  an  atom,  and  an  atom  more, 
Disjoining  from  the  rest,  has,  unobserved, 
Achieved  a  labor  which  had,  fai^and  wide, 
By  man  perform'd,  made  all  the  forest  ring. 

Embowell'd  now,  and  of  thy  ancient  self  / 

Possessing  nanght  but  the  scoop'd  rind,  that  seeiq(s 
A  huge  throat  calling  to  the  clouds  for  drink, 
Which  it  would  give  in  rivulets  to  thy  root. 
Thou  temptest  none,  but  rather  much  forbidd'st 
The  feller's  toil,  which  thou  couldst  ill  requite. 
Yet  is  thy  root  sincere,  sound  as,  the  rock, 
A  quarry  of  stout  spurs  and  kn,ptted  fangs,  r 

Which,  crook'd  into  a  thousand  whimsies,  clasp j/ 
The  stubborn  soil,  and  hold  thee  still  erect:         ^ 

So  stands  a  kingdom,  whose  foundation  yet 
Fails  not,  in  virtue  and  in  wisdom  laid ; 
Though  all  the  superstructure,  by  the  tooth      / 
Pulverized  of  venality,  a  shell       ;  \ 

.S'^nds  now,  and  semblance  only  of  itself!      ] 

Thine  arms  have  left  thee.    Winds  have  rent  them  off 
Long  since,  and  a-overs  of  the  forest  wild, 
With  bow  and  sliaft  have  burnt  them.     Some  have  left 
A  splinter'd  stump  bleach'd  to  a  snowy  white ; 
And  some  memorial  none  where  once  they  grew. 
Yet  life  still. .lingers  in  thee,  and' puts  forth 
Proof  not  contemptible  of  what  she  can, 
Ev^en  where  death  predominates.     The  spring 
Finds  thee  not  less  alive  to  her  sweet  force 
Than  yonder  upstarts  of  the  neighboring  wood. 
So  much  thy  juniors,  who  their  birth  received 
Half  a  millennium  since  the  date  of  thine. 

But  since,  although  well  qualified  by  age  ^i 
To  teach,  no  spirit  dwells  in  thee,  nor  voices 
May  be  expected  from  thee  ;  seated  here       • 
On  thy  distorted  root,  with  hearers  none,      \ 
Or  prompter,  save  th^.  scene,  I  will  perforni^\ 
Myself  the  oracle,  and  will  discourse  ^ 

In  my  own  ear  such  matter  as  I  may.  / 

One  man  alone,  the  father  of  us  all. 
Drew  not  his  life  from  woman ;  never  gazed, 
W^ith  mute  unconsciousness  of  what  he  saw, 
On  all  around  him  ;  learn'd  not  by  degrees, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  483 

Noi-  owed  articulation  to  his  ear ; 
But,  moulded  by  his  Maker  into  man 
At  once,  upstood  intelligent,  survey'd 
All  creatures,  with  precision  understood 
Their  purport,  uses,  properties  ;  assigned 
To  each  his  name  significant,  and,  fill'd 
With  love  and  wisdom,  rendered  back  to  Heaven 
In  praise  harmonious  the  first  air  he  drew. 
He  was  excused  the  penalties  of  dull— - 
Minority.     No  tutor  charged  his  hand 
With  the  thought-tracing  quill,  or  task'd  his  mind 
With  problems.     History,  not  wanted  yet, 
Lean'd  on  her  elbow,  watching  Time,  whose  course, 
Eventful,  should  supply  her  with  a  theme.     .     .     . 
1791. 


TO  THE  NIGHTI^^GALE, 

WHICn  THE  AUTHOR  HEARD  SING  ON  NEW-YEAR's  DAY,  1792. 

Whence  is  it  that,  amazed,  I  hear 

From  yonder  -withered  spray, 
This  foremost  morn  of  all  the  year. 

The  melody  of  May  ? 

And  w^hy,  since  thousands  would  be  proud 

Of  such  a  favor  shown, 
Ani  I  selected  from  the  crowd 

To  witness  it  alone  ? 

Sing'st  thou,  sweet  Philomel,  to  me, 

For  that  I  also  long 
Have  practised  in  the  groves  like  thee, 

Though  not  like  thee  in  song? 

Or  sing'st  thou,  rather,  under  force 

Of  some  divine  command, 
Commission'd  to  presage  a  course 

Of  happier  days  at  hand? 

Thrice  welcome  then !  for  many  a  long 

-And  joyless  year  have  I, 
As  thou  to-day,  put  forth  my  song 

Beneath  a  wintry  sky. 


484  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But  thee  no  wintry  skies  can  harm, 
Who  only  need'st  to  sing, 

To  make  even  January  charm. 
And  every  season  spring. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM 

OF  MISS  PATTY  MORe's,  SISTER  TO  HANNAH  MORE, 

Ix  vain  to  live  from  age  to  age 
AVhile  modern  bards  endeavor, 

I  write  my  name  in  Patty's  page, 
And  gain  ray  point  forever. 

March  6, 1T92.  AY.  COWPER. 


SONNET  TO  WILLIAM  WILBERFORCE,  ESQ. 

Thy  country,  W^ilberforce,  with  just  disdain, 

Hears  thee  by  cruel  men  and  impious  call'd 

Fanatic,  for  thy  zeal  to  loose  the  enthrall'd 
From  exile,  public  sale,  and  slavery's  chain. 

Friend  of  the  poor,  the  wrong'd,  the  fetter-gall'd. 
Fear  not  lest  labor  such  as  thine  be  vain ! 

Thou  hast  achieved  a  part ;  hast  gain'd  the  ear 
Of  Britain's  senate  to  thy  glorious  cause ; 
Hope  smiles,  Joy  springs,  and,  though  cold  Caution  paus< 

And  weave  delay,  the  better  hour  is  near 

That  shall  remunerate  thy  toils  severe, 
By  peace  for  Afric,  fenced  with  British  laws. 
Enjoy  what  thou  hast  won,  esteem  and  love 
From  all  the  just  on  earth,  and  all  the  blest  above! 

April  16,  1T92. 


EPIGRAM 

PRINTED  IN  THE  "NORTHAMPTON  MERCURY.' 

To  purify  their  wine,  some  people  bleed 
A  lamb  into  the  barrel,  and  succeed; 
No  nostrum,  planters  say,  is  half  so  good 
To  make  fine  sugar  as  a  Negro's  blood. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  485 

Now  lambs  and  Negroes  both  are  harmless  things, 
And  thence  perhaps  this  wondrous  virtue  springs, 
'Tis  in  the  blood  of  innocence  alone — 
Good  cause  why  planters  never  try  their  own. 


TO  DR.  AUSTIN, 

OF  CECIL  STREET,  LONDON. 

Austin!  accept  a  grateful  verse- from  me, 
The  poet's  treasure,  no  inglorious  fee. 
Loved  by  the  Muses,  thy  ingenuous  mind 
Pleasing  requital  in  my  verse  may  find. 
Yerse  oft  has  dasli'd  the  scythe  of  Time  aside, 
Immortalizing  names  which  else  had  died : 
And  oh !  could  I  command  the  glittering  Avealth 
With  which  sick  kings  are  glad  to  purchase  health/ 
Yet,  if  extensive  fame,  and  sure  to  live. 
Were  in  the  power  of  verse  like  mine  to  give, 
I  would  not  recompense  his  arts  with  less. 
Who,  giving  Mary  health,  heals  my  distress. 

Friend  of  my  friend!^  I  love  thee,  though  unknown. 
And  boldly  call  thee,  being  his,  my  own. 

May  26, 1792. 


EPITAPH  ON  FOP, 

A  DOG  BELONGING  TO  LADY  THROCKMORTON. 

Though  once  a  puppy,  and  though  Fop  by  name, 

Here  moulders  one  whose  bones  some  honor  claim. 

No  sycophant,  although  of  spaniel  race. 

And  though  no  hound,  a  martyr  to  the  chase — 

Ye  squirrels,  rabbits,  leverets,  rejoice ! 

Your  haunts  no  longer  echo  to  his  voice ; 

This  record  of  his  fate  exulting  view  ; 

He  died  worn  out  with  vain  pursuit  of  you. 

"Yes," — the  indignant  shade  of  Fop  replies — 
"And  worn  with  vain  pursuit,  man  also  dies." 

August,  1T92. 

'  Ilayley. 


486  cowper's  poetical  works. 


MARY  AND  JOHN. 

If  John  marries  Mary,  and  Mary  alone, 
'Tis  a  very  good  match  between  Mary  and  John. 
Shoukl  John  wed  a  score,  oh,  the  claAvs  and  the  scratches! 
It  can't  be  a  match — 'tis  a  bundle  of  matches. 


SONNET  TO  GEORGE  ROMNEY,  ESQ., 

ON  mS  PICTURE  OF  ME  IN  CRAYONS, 

Drawn  at  Eartham  in  the  61st  year  of  my  age,  and  in  the  months  of  August 
and  September,  1792. 

KoMXEY,  expert  infallibly  to  trace 

On  chart  or  canvas,  not  the  form  alone 
And  semblance,  but,  however  faintly  shown, 

The  mind's  impression  too  on  every  face — 

With  strokes  that  time  ought  never  to  erase, 
Thou  hast  so  pencill'd  mine,  that  though  I  own 
The  subject  worthless,  I  have  never  known 

The  artist  shining  with  superior  grace. 

But  tliis  I  mark — that  symptoms  none  of  woe 

In  thy  incomparable  work  appear. 
Well — I  am  satisfied  it  should  be  so. 

Since,  on  maturer  tliought,  the  cause  is  clear ; 
For  in  my  looks  what  sorrow  couldst  thou  see 
When  I  was  Ilayley's  guest,  and  sat  to  thee  ? 

October,  1792.  ' 


EPITAPH  ON  MR.  CHESTER, 

OF    CIIICHELEY. 

Tears  flow,  and  cease  not,  where  the  good  man  lies, 
Till  all  who  knew  him  follow  to  the  skies. 
Tears  therefore  fall  where  Chester's  ashes  sleep  ; 
Him  wife,  friends,  brothers,  children,  servants  weep- 
And  justly — few  shall  ev^er  him  transcend 
As  husband,  parent,  brother,  master,  friend. 

April.  1793. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  48*7 


TO  MY  COUSIN,  ANNE  BODHAM, 

ON    RECEIVING    FROM    HER    A    NETWORK    PURSE    MADE    BY 
HERSELF. 

My  gentle  Anne,  whom  heretofore, 
AVhen  I  w«as  young,  and  thou  no  more 

Than  plaything  for  a  nurse, 
I  danced  and  fondled  on  my  knee, 
A  kitten  both  in  size  and  glee — 

I  thank  thee  for  my  purse. 

Gold  pays  the  worth  of  all  things  here; 
But  not  of  love : — that  gem's  too  dear 

For  richest  rogues  to  win  it; 
I,  therefore,  as  a  proof  of  love. 
Esteem  thy  present  far  above 

The  best  things  kept  within  it. 

May  4, 1793. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  HERMITAGE  IN  THE 
AUTHOR'S  GARDEN. 

Tins  cabin,  Mary,  in  my  sight  appears. 
Built  as  it  has  been  in  our  waning  years, 
A  rest  afforded  to  our  weary  feet. 
Preliminary — to  the  last  retreat. 
May,  1T93. 


TO  MRS.  UN  WIN. 

Mary  !  I  want  a  lyre  Avith  other  strings. 

Such  aid  from  Heaven  as  some  have  feign'd  they  drew. 

An  eloquence  scarce  given  to  mortals,  new 
And  undebased  by  praise  of  meaner  things; 
That,  ere  through  age  or  woe  I  shed  my  wings, 

I  may  record  thy  worth  with  honor  due. 

In  verse  as  musical  as  thou  art  true. 
And  that  immortalizes  whom  it  sings. 
But  thou  hast  little  need.     There  is  a  book 


488  cowper's  poetical  works. 

By  seraphs  writ  with  beams  of  lieavenly  liglit, 
On  which  the  eyes  of  God  not  rarely  look, 

A  chronicle  of  actions  just  and  bright; 
There  all  thy  deeds,  my  faithful  Mary,  shine, 
And,  since  thou  owli'st  that  j^raise,  I  spare  thee  mine. 

May,  1793. 


TO  JOHN-  JOHNSON,  ESQ., 

ON   HIS    PRESENTING    ME    WITH    AN    ANTIQUE   BUST   OF   HOMER. 

KixsMAN  beloved,  and  as  a  son,  by  me ! 
When  I  behold  the  fruit  of  thy  regard, 
The  sculptured  form  of  my  old  fovorite  bard, 

I  reverence  feel  for  him,  and  love  for  thee  : 

Joy  too  and  grief — much  joy  that  there  should  be, 
Wise  men  and  learn'd,  who  grudge  not  to  reward 
IVith  some  applause  my  bold  attempt  and  hard, 

Which  others  scorn ;  critics  by  courtesy. 

The  grief  is  this,  that,  sunk  in  Homer's  mine, 
I  lose  my  precious  years,  now  soon  to  fail. 

Handling  his  gold,  which,  howsoe'er  it  shine. 

Proves  dross  when  balanced  in  the  Christian  scale. 

Be  wiser  thou — like  our  forefather  Donne, 

Seek  heavenly  wealth,  and  work  for  God  alone. 

May,  1793. 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND, 

ON   HIS   ARRIVING    AT    CAMBRIDGE   WET,    WHEN   NO   RAIN    HAD 
FALLEN   THERE. 

If  Gideon's  fleece,  which  drench'd  with  dew  he  found 

While  moisture  none  refresh'd  the  herbs  around. 

Might  fitly  represent  the  Church,  endow'd 

With  heavenly  gifts  to  heathens  not  allow  xl ; 

In  pledge,  perhaps,  of  favors  from  on  high. 

Thy  locks  were  wet  when  others'  locks  were  dry : 

Heaven  grant  us  half  the  omen — may  we  see, 

'Not  drought  on  others,  but  much  dew  on  thee! 

May,  1793. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  489 

TO   A  SPANIEL,  CALLED   BEAU,   KILLING   A 
YOUNG  BIRD. 

A  Spaniel,  Beau,  that  fares  like  you, 

"Well  fed,  and  at  his  ease. 
Should  wiser  be  than  to  pursue 

Each  trifle  that  he  sees. 

But  you  have  kill'd  a  tiny  bird, 

Which  flew  not  till  to-day, 
Against  my  orders,  whom  you  heard 

Forbidding  you  the  prey. 

Nor  did  you  kill  that  you  might  eat 

And  ease  a  doggish  pain  ; 
For  him,  though  chased  with  furious  heat, 

You  left  where  lie  was  slain. 

Nor  was  he  of  the  thievish  sort, 

Or  one  whom  blood  allures  ; 
But  innocent  was  all  his  sport 

Whom  you  have  torn  for  yours. 

My  dog !  what  remedy  remains, 

Since  teach  you  all  I  can, 
I  see  you,  after  all  my  pains, 

So  much  resemble  man  ? 
July  15, 1T93. 


BEAU'S  REPLY. 

Sir,  when  I  flew  to  seize  the  bird 

In  spite  of  your  command, 
A  louder  voice  than  yours  I  heard, 

And  harder  to  withstand. 

Y^ou  cried — Forbear! — but  in  my  breast 
A  mightier  cried — Proceed ! — 

'Twas  Nature,  sir,  whose  strong  behest 
Impell'd  me  to  the  deed. 

Y^et,  much  as  Nature  I  respect, 

I  ventured  once  to  break 
(As  you  perhaps  may  recollect) 

Her  precept  for  your  sake ; 


490  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  when  your  linnet  on  a  day, 
Passing  his  prison  door, 

Had  flutter'd  all  his  strength  away, 
And  panting  press'd  the  floor — 

AYell  knowing  him  a  sacred  thing, 
Not  destined  to  my  tooth, 

I  only  kiss'd  his  ruffled  wing, 
And  lick'd  the  feathers  smooth. 

Let  my  obedience  then  excuse 
My  disobedience  now ; 

IsTor  some  reproof  yourself  refuse 
From  your  aggrieved  bow-wow : 

If  killing  birds  be  such  a  crime 
I  (Which  I  can  hardly  see), 

'        What  think  you,  sir,  of  killing  time 
With  verse  address'd  to  me ! 


TO  WILLIAM  HAYLEY,  ESQ. 

Dear  architect  of  fine  Chateaux  in  air. 
Worthier  to  stand  forever,  if  they  could, 
Than  any  built  of  stone  or  yet  of  wood, 

For  back  of  royal  elephant  to  bear ! 

Oh  for  permission  from  the  skies  to  share. 
Much  to  my  own,  though  little  to  thy  good, 
With  thee  (not  subject  to  the  jealous  mood!) 

A  partnership  of  literary  ware ! 

But  I  am  bankrupt  now ;  and  doom'd  henceforth 
To  drudge^  in  descant  dry,  on  others'  lays  ; 

Bards,  I  acknowledge,  of  unequalPd  worth  ! 
But  what  his  commentator's  happiest  praise? 

That  he  has  furnish'd  lights  for  other  eyes, 

Which  they  who  need  them  use,  and  then  despise. 
Jane  29, 1793. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  491 


ANSWER 


TO  STANZAS  ADDRESSED  TO  LADY  IIESKETII,  BY  MISS  CATHERINE  FAX- 
SHAWE,  IN  RETURNING  A  POEM  OF  MR.  COWPER's,  LENT  TO  HER,  ON 
CONDITION  SHE  SHOULD  NEITHER  SHOW  IT,  NOR  TAKE  A  COPY. 

To.  be  remembered  thus  is  fame, 

And  in  the  first  degree ; 
And  did  the  few,  like  her,  tlie  same, 

The  press  might  sleep  for  ine. 

So  Homer  in  the  memory  stored 

Of  many  a  Grecian  belle, 
AVas  once  preserved — a  richer  hoard, 

But  never  lodged  so  Avell. 

1793. 


ON  FLAXMAN'S  PENELOPE. 

The  suitors  sinn'd,  but  with  a  fair  excuse. 
Whom  all  this  elegance  might  well  seduce ; 
'Nor  can  our  censure  on  the  husband  fall. 
Who,  for  a  wife  so  lovely,  slew  them  all. 

September,  1793. 


TO  THE  SPANISH  ADMIRAL  COUNT  GRAVINA, 

ON  HIS  TRANSLATING  THE  AUTHOr's  SONG  ON  A  ROSE  INTO  ITALIAN 
VERSE. 

My  Rose,  Gravina,  blooms  anew, 
And  steep'd  not  now  in  rain. 

But  in  Castilian  streams  by  you, 
Will  never  fade  again. 

1793. 


INSCRIPTION 

FOR  THE  TOMB  OF  MR.  HAMILTON. 

Paitse  liere,  and  think :  a  monitory  rhyme 
Demands  one  moment  of  thy  fleeting  time. 

Consult  lilVs  silent  clock,  thy  bounding  vein; 
Seems  it  to  say — '^  Health  here  has  long  to  reign?" 


492  cowrEfi's  poetical  works. 

Ilast  thou  the  vigor  of  tliy  youth  ?  an  eye 
•         That  beams  delight?  a  lieart  untaught  to  sigh? 
Yet  fear.     Youth,  ofttinies  healthful  and  at  ease, 
Anticipates  a  day  it  never  sees; 
And  many  a  tomb,  like  Hamilton's,  aloud 
Exclaims,  ^'Prepare  thee  for  an  early  shroud!" 


EPITAPH  01^  A  HARE.1 

Here  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue, 
[N'or  swifter  greyhound  follow, 

Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew, 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo ; 

Old  Tiney,  surliest  of  his  kind,     ^ 
AVho,  nursed  with  tender  care, 

And  to  domestic  bounds  confined. 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack  hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 
His  pittance  every  night ;       ^ 

He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 
And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread. 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw ; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead, 
With  sand  to  scour  his  inaw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled, 

On  pippins'  russet  peel; 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  fail'd. 

Sliced  carrot  pleased  him  Avell. 

A  Turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn. 

Whereon  he  loved  to  bound, 
To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn. 

And  swing  Ids  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours\ 
y   For  then  he  lost  his  fear ;  ^ 

-"^ut  most  before  approaching  showers, 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near. 
1  See  a  Latin  Epitaph  on  the  other  hare  (Puss),  p.  532. 


/ 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  /  493 

Eight  years  and  five  round  rolling  moons 

lie  thus  saw  steal  away, 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons, 

And  every  night  at  play. 

I  kept  him  for  his  humor's  sake. 

For  he  would  oft  heguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  tliat  made  it  ache, 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now  heneath  this  walnut  shade 

He  finds  his  long  last  home. 
And  waits,  in  snug  concealment  laid, 

Till  gentler  Puss  shall  ,icome. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks, 
From  which  no  care  ean  save,     \^ 

And,  partner  once  of  Tiney's  box, 
Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 


THE  BIRD'S  NEST.— A  TALE.» 

In  Scotland's  realms,  where  trees  are  few, 

Nor  even  shrubs  abound  ; 
But  where,  however  bleak  the  view, 

Some  better  things  are  found ; 

For  husband  there  and  wife  nuiy  boast 

Their  union  undefiled ; 
And  fiilse  ones  are  as  rare  almost 

As  hedgerows  in  the  wild — 

In  Scotland's  realm  forlorn  and  bare 

Tlie  history  chanced  of  late— 
The  history  of  a  wedded  pair, 

A  chafiinch  and  his  matq. 

*  This  talc  is  founded  on  an  article  which  appeared  in  the  "Buckingham- 
ihire  Herald,"  Saturday,  June  1,  1793 :— '•  Glasgow,  May  23.— In  a  block,  or 
)ulley,  near  the  head  of  the  mast  of  a  gabcrt,  now  lying  at  the  Broomlelaw, 
here  is  a  chaffinch's  nest  and  four  cg^s.  The  nest  was  built  while  the  vessel 
ay  at  Greenock,  and  was  followed  hither  by  both  birds.  Though  the  block 
is  occasionally  lowered  for  the  inspection  of  the  curious,  the  birds  have  not 
lorsakcn  tlie  nest.  Tlie  cock,  however,  visits  the  nest  but  seldom;  while 
»bo  liGn  never  leaves  it,  but  when  she  descends  to  the  hull  for  food." 
42 


494  cowper's  poetical  works. 

The  spring  drew  near,  each  felt  a  breast 

"With  genial  instinct  filPd ; 
They  pair'd,  and  would  have  built  a  nest, 

But  found  not  where  to  build. 

The  heaths  uncovered  and  the  moors, 
Except  with  snow  and  sleet; 

Sea-beaten  rocks  and  naked  shores 
Could  yield  them  no  retreat. 

Long  time  a  breeding-place  they  sought, 
Till  both  grew  vex'd  and  tired  : 

At  length  a  ship  arriving  brought 
The  good  so  long  desn-.ed. 

A  ship! — could  such  a  restless  thing 
Afford  them  place  of  rest? 

Or  Avas  the  mercliant  charged  to  bring 
The  homeless  birds  a  nest? 

Hush! — silent  hearers  profit  most — 

This  racer  of  the  sea 
Proved  kinder  to  them  than  the  coast: 

It  served  them  with  a  tree. 

But  such  a  tree !  'twas  shaven  deal, 

The  tree  they  call  a  mast, 
And  had  a  hollow  with  a  wheel 

Through  which  the  tackle  pass'd. 

"Withm  that  cavity  aloft 

Their  roofless  home  they  iix'd, 

Form'd  with  materials  neat  and  soft. 
Bents,  wool,  and  feathers  mix'd. 

Four  ivory  eggs  soon  pave  its  floor 

"With  russet  specks  bedight — 
*  The  vessel  weighs,  forsakes  the  shore, 
And  lessens  to  the  sight. 

The  mother-bird  is  gone  to  sea, 
As  she  had  changed  her  kind ; 

But  goes  the  male  ?     Far  wiser,  he 
Is  doubtless  left  behind. 

No — soon  as  from  ashore  he  saw 
The  winged  mansion  move. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  495 

He  flew  to  reach  it,  by  a  law 
Of  never-failing  love ; 

Then,  perching  at  his  consort's  side, 

Was  briskly  borne  along, 
The  billows  and  the  blast  defied, 

And  cheer'd  her  with  a  song. 

The  seaman  with  sincere  delight 

His  feather'd  shipmates  eyes ; 
Scarce  less  exulting  in  the  sight 

Than  when  he  tows  a  prize. 

For  seamen  much  believe  in  signs, 

And  from  a  chance  so  new 
Each  some  approaching  good  divines; 

And  may  his  hopes  be  true ! 

Hail,  honor'd  land!  a  desert  where 

Not  even  birds  can  hide : 
Yet  parent  of  this  loving  pair, 

Whom  nothmg  could  divide. 

And  ye  who,  rather  than  resign, 

Your  matrimonial  plan. 
Were  not  afraid  to  plough  the  brine 

In  company  with  man  ; 

For  whose  lean  country  much  disdain 

We  English  often  show  ; 
Yet  from  a  richer  nothing  gain 

But  wantonness  and  woe — 

Be  it  your  fortune,  year  by  year 

The  same  resource  to  prove ; 
And  may  ye,  sometimes  landing  here, 

Instruct  us  how  to  love ! 

June,  1793. 


TO  MARY  (MRS.  UNWIN). 

The  twentieth  year  is  well-nigh  past 

Since  first  our  bky  was  overcast; 

Ah !  would  that  this  might  be  tlie  last ! 

My  Mary ! 


496  '  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Thy  spirits  have  a  fainter  flow, 
I  see  thee  daily  weaker  grow — 
Twas  my  distress  that  brought  thee  low, 

My  ilary ! 

Thy  needles,  once  a  shining  store,^ 
For  my  sake  restless  heretofore, 
!Now  rust  disused,  and  shine  no  more; 

My  Mary ! 

For,  though  thou  gladly  wouldst  fidfil 
The  same  kind  office  for  me  still, 
Thy  sight  now  seconds  not  thy  will. 

My  Mary ! 

But  well  thou  play'dst  the  housewife's  part, 
And  all  thy  threads  with  magic  art 
Have  wound  themselves  about  this  heart, 

My  Mary ! 

Thy  indistinct  expressions  seem 
Like  language  utter'd  in  a  dream : 
Yet  me  they  charm,  whatever  the  theme. 

My  Mary ! 

Thy  silver  locks,  once  auburn  bright,  \l 
Are  still  more  lovely  in  my  sight 
Than  golden  beams  of  orient  light. 

My  Mary  ( 

For,  could  I  view  nor  them  nor  thee, 
"What  sight  worth  seeing  could  I  see"? 
The  sun  would  rise  in  vain  for  me,    - 

My  Mary ! 

Partakers  of  thy  sad  decline. 

Thy  hands  their  little  force  resign ; 

Yet  gently  press'd,  press  gently  mine, 

My  Mary !  • 

Such  feebleness  of  limbs  thou  provest,J 
That  now  at  every  step  thou  mo  vest 
Upheld  by  two ;  yet  still  thou  lovest, 

My  Mary !  • 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  ^   497 

And  still  to  love,  though  pressed  with  \\\^ 
In  wintry  age  to  feel  no  chill, 
"With  me  is  to  be  lovely  still, 

My  Mary ! 

But  ah  !  by  constant  heed  I  know. 
How  oft  the  sadness  that  I  show 
Transforms  thy  smiles  to  looks  of  woe, 

My  Mary ! 

And  should  my  future  lot  be  cast 
AVith  much  resemblance  of  the  past, 
Thy  worn-out  heart  will  break  at  last. 

My  Mary ! 

Autumn  oi  1793. 


THE  CASTAWAY. 

Obscueest  night  mvolved  the  sky, 
The  Atlantic  billows  roar VI, 

When  such  a  destined  wretch  as  I, 
Washed  headlong  from  on  boardy 

Of  friends,  of  hope,  of  all  bereft, 

PI  is  floating  home  forever  left. 

No  braver  chief  could  Albion  boast 
Than  he  with  whom  he  went , 

Kor  ever  ship  left  Albion's  coast 
With  warmer  wishes  sent. 

He  loved  them  both,  but  both  in  vain, 

IsTor  him  beheld,  nor  her  again. 

Not  long  beneath  the  whelming  brine, 

Expert  to  swim,  he  lay  ; 
Nor  soon  he  felt  his  strength  decline. 

Or  courage  die  away : 
But  waged  with  Death  a  lasting  strife,  V- 
Supported  by  despair  of  life. 

He  shouted ;  nor  his  friends  had  fail'd 
To  check  the  vessel's  course  ; 

But  so  the  furious  blast  prevaiPd, 
That,  pitiless  perforce. 

They  left  tlieir  outcast  mate  behind, 

And  scudded  still  before  the  wind. 


498  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Some  succor  yet  they  could  afford ; 

And,  such  as  storms  allow, 
The  cask,  the  coop,  the  floated  cord, 

Delay'd  not  to  jbestow : 
But  he,  they  knew,  nor  ship  nor  shore, 
Whate'er  they  gave,  should  visit  more. 

!N"or,  cruel  as  it  seem'd,  could  he 
Their  liaste  himself  condemn. 

Aware  that  flight,  in  such  a  sea, 
Alone  could  rescue  them ; 

Yet  hitter  felt  it  still  to  die         J 

Deserted,  and  his  friends  so  nigh. 

He  long  survives,  who  lives  an  hour 

In  ocean,  self-upheld : 
And  so  long  he,  with  unspent  power, 

His  destiny  repell'd : 
And  ever,  as  the  minutes  flew. 
Entreated  help,  or  cried — ^' Adieu!" 

At  length,  his  transient  respite  past, 
His  comrades,  who  hefore 

Had  heard  his  voice  in  every  hlast, 
Could  catch  the  sound  no  more : 

For  then,  by  toil  subdued,  he  drank 

The  stifling  wave,  and  then  he  sank. 

Ko  poet  wept  him ;  but  the  page 

Of  narrative  sincere 
That  tells  his  name,  his  worth,  his  age, 

Is  wet  with  Anson's  tear ; 
And  tears  by  bards  or  heroes  shed 
Alike  immortalize  the  dead. 

I  therefore  purpose  not,  or  dream, 

Descanting  on  his  fate, 
To  give  the  melancholy  theme 

A  more  enduring  date : 
/      But  misery  still  delights  to  trace 
Its  semblance  in  another's  case. 

Ko  voice  divine  the  storm  allay'd, 
'No  light  propitious  shone; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  499 

When,  snatcli'd  from  all  effectual  aid, 

We  perish'd,  each  alone : 
But  I  beneath  a  rougher  sea,        J 
And  whelm'd  in  deeper  gulfs  than  he. 
March  20, 1T99. 


TO  SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

Dear  President,  whose  art  sublime 
Gives  perpetuity  to  time, 
And  bids  transactions  of  a  day, 
That  fleeting  hours  would  waft  away 
To  dark  futurity,  survive, 
And  in  unfading  beauty  live, — 
You  cannot  with  a  grace  decline 
A  special  mandate  of  the  Nine — 
Yourself,  whatever  task  you  choose, 
So  much  indebted  to  the  Muse. 

Thus  say  the  sisterhood : — W^e  come — 
Fix  well  your  pallet  on  your  thumb, 
Pr.epare  the  pencil  and  the  tints — 
W^e  come  to  furnish  you  with  hints. 
French  disappointment,  British  glory, 
Must  be  the  subject  of  the  story. 

First  strike  a  curve,  a  graceful  bow, 
Then  slope  it  to  a  point  below ; 
Your  outline  easy,  airy,  light, 
Fill'd  up,  becomes  a  paper  kite. 
Let  independence,  sanguine,  horrid, 
Blaze  like  a  meteor  in  the  forehead : 
Beneath  (but  lay  aside  your  graces) 
Draw  si x-and- twenty  rueful  faces. 
Each  with  a  staring,  steadfast  eye, 
Fix'd  on  his  great  and  good  ally. 
France  flies  the  kite — 'tis  on  the  wing —  .^^ 

Britannia's  lightning  cuts  the  string. 
The  wind  that  raised  it,  ere  it  ceases, 
Just  rends  it  into  thirteen  pieces. 
Takes  charge  of  every  fluttering  sheet, 
And  lays  them  all  at  George's  feet, 

Iberia,  trembling  from  afar, 
Renounces  the  confederate  war. 


500  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Her  efforts  and  her  arts  overcome, 
France  calls  her  shattered  navies  home ; 
Repenting  Holland  learns  to  mourn 
The  sacred  treaties  she  has  torn ; 
Astonishment  and  aAve  profound 
Are  stamped  upon  the  nations  round : 
Without  one  friend,  above  all  foes, 
Britannia  gives  the  world  repose. 


ON  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "LETTERS  ON  LITERATURE." i 

The  Genius  of  the  Augustan  age 
His  head  among  Rome's  ruins  rear'd, 
And,  bursting  with  heroic  rage, 
"When  literary  Heron  appear'd ; 

Thou  hast,  he  cried,  like  him  of  old 
Who  set  the  Ephesian  dome  on  fire, 
By  being  scandalously  bold, 
Attain'd  the  mark  of  thy  desire. 

And  for  traducing  YirgiPs  name, 
Shalt  share  his  merited  reward ; 
A  perpetuity  of  fame. 
That  rots,  and  stinks,  and  is  abhorr'd. 


THE  DISTRESSED  TRAVELLERS; 

OR,  LABOR  IX  VAIN. 

A  new  song^  to  a  tune  7iever  su7ig  'before. 

I  SING  of  a  journey  to  Clifton,^ 

We  would  have  perform'd,  if  we  coull; 
Without  cart  cr  barrow,  to  lift  on 
Poor  Mary^  and  me  through  the  mud. 
Slee,  sla,  slud. 
Stuck  in  the  mud ; 
Oh,  it  is  pretty  to  wade  through  a  flood ! 

*  Nominally  by  Robert  Heron,  Esq.,  but  supposed  to  have  been  written 
by  John  Pinkerton.    Svo.  1785. 

2  A  village  near  Olney.  3  m^-s.  Unwin. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  601 

So  away  we  went,  slipping  and  sliding; 

Hop,  hop,  a  la  mode  de  deux  frogs  ; 
'Tis  near  as  good  walking  as  riding, 
AVhen  ladies  are  dress'd  in  their  clogs. 
AVheels,  no  donbt, 
Go  briskly  about, 
But  they  clatter  and  rattle,  and  make  such  a  rout. 

DIALOGUE. 

SHE. 

"Well!  now,  I  protest  it  is  charming; 

How  finely  the  weather  improves! 
That  cloud,  though  'tis  rather  alarming, 

How  slowly  and  stately  it  moves!" 


*'  Pshaw !  never  mind, 
'Tis  not  in  the  wind, 
We  are  travelling  south,  and  shall  leave  it  behind." 


"  I  am  glad  we  are  come  for  an  airing. 
For  folks  may  be  pounded,  and  penn'd, 

Until  they  grow  rusty,  not  caring 
To  stir  half  a  mile  to  an  end." 


"  The  longer  we  stay. 
The  longer  we  may ; 
It's  a  folly  to  think  about  weather  or  way." 


"  But  now  I  begin  to  be  frighted ; 

If  I  fall,  Avhat  a  way  I  should  roll! 
I  am  glad  that  the  bridge  was  indicted, 

Stay  I  stop !  I  am  sunk  in  a  hole !" 


"  Fay,  never  care, 
'Tis  a  common  affair ; 
You'll  not  be  the  last  that  will  set  a  foot  there." 


502  cowper's  poetical  works. 


"Let  me  breathe  now  a  little,  and  pondei 
On  what  it  were  better  to  do ; 

That  terrible  lane  I  see  yonder 
I  think  we  shall  never  get  through/* 


'^So  think  I:— 
But,  by  the  by, 
We  never  shall  know,  if  we  never  should  try." 


"But  should  we  get  there,  how  shall  we  get  liome? 

What  a  terrible  deal  of  bad  road  we  have  past ! 
Slipping  and  sliding,  and  if  we  should  come 
To  a  difficult  stile,  I  am  ruin'd  at  last ! 
Oh,  this  lane ! 
Kow  it  is  plain 
That  struggling  and  striving  is  labor  in  vain.'* 

HE. 

"Stick  fast  there  while  I  go  and  look;" 

SHE. 

"  Don't  go  away,  for  fear  I  should  fall :" 


"  I  have  examined  it,  every  nook. 
And  what  you  see  here  is  a  sample  of  all. 

Come,  wheel  round. 

The  dirt  we  have  found 
Would  be  an  estate,  at  a  farthing  a  pound. 

Now,  sister  Anne,^  the  guitar  you  must  take ; 

Set  it,  and  sing  it,  and  make  it  a  song: 
I  have  varied  the  verse,  for  variety's  sake. 
And  cut  it  otF  short — ^because  it  was  long. 
'Tis  hobbling  and  lame. 
Which  critics  won't  blame ; 
For  the  sense  and  the  sound,  they  say,  should  be  the  same. 

1  Lady  Austen. 


I 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  503 


STANZAS 


ON  THE  LATE  INDECENT  LIBERTIES  TAKEN  WITH  THE  REMAINS  OF 
MILTON.* 

"Me  too,  perchance,  in  future  days, 
The  sculptured  stone  shall  show, 

With  Paphian  myrtle  or  "with  bays 
Parnassian  on  my  brow. 

"But  I,  or  e'er  that  season  come, 

Escaped  from  every  care, 
Shall  reach  my  refuge  in  the  tomb, 

And  sleep  securely  there." 

So  sang,  in  Roman  tone  and  style. 

The  youthful  bard,  ere  long 
OrdainVl  to  grace  his  native  isle 

With  her  sublimest  song. 

Who  then  but  must  conceive  disdain. 

Hearing  the  deed  unblest 
Of  wretches  who  have  dared  profane 

His  dread  sepulchral  rest  ? 

HI  fiire  the  hands  that  heaved  the  stones 

AVhere  Milton's  ashes  lay — 
That  trembled  not  to  grasp  his  bones 

And  steal  his  dust  away ! 

O  ill  requited  bard !  neglect 

Thy  living  worth  repaid ; 
And  blind  idolatrous  respect 

As  much  affronts  thee  dead. 
August,  1T90. 


TO  THE  REV.  WILLIAM  BULL. 

My  PEAK  FEIEND,  JuuG  22,  17S2. 

If  reading  verse  ^be  your  delight, 
'Tis  mine  as  much,  or  more,  to  write; 
But  wliat  we  would,  so  weak  is  man, 
Lies  oft  remote  from  what  we  can. 

1  The  bones  of  Milton,  who  lies  buried  in  Cripplegate  Church,  were  disin- 
terred in  the  year  1790. 


504:  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  instance,  at  this  very  time 

I  feel  a  wish  by  cheerful  rhyme 

To  soothe  my  friend,  and,  had  I  power, 

To  cheat  him  of  an  anxious  hour ; 

!N'ot  meaning  (for  I  must  confess, 

It  were  but  folly  to  suppress) 

His  pleasure,  or  his  good  alone, 

But  squinting  partly  at  my  own. 

But  though  the  sun  is  flaming  high 

In  the  centre  of  yon  arch,  the  sky, 

And  he  had  once  (and  who  but  he?) 

The  name  for  setting  genius  free ; 

Yet  whether  poets  of  past  days 

Yielded  him  undeserved  praise, 

And  he  by  no  uncommon  lot 

Was  famed  for  virtues  he  had  not , 

Or  whether,  which  is  like  enough, 

His  Highness  may  have  taken  huff. 

So  seldom  sought  with  invocation, 

Since  it  has  been  the  reigning  fashion 

To  disregard  his  inspiration — 

I  seem  no  brighter  in  my  wits, 

For  all  the  radiance  he  emits. 

Than  if  I  saw  through  midnight  vapor, 

The  glimmering  of  a  farthing  taper. 

Oh  for  a  succedaneum,  then, 

To  accelerate  a  creeping  pen 

Oh  for  a  ready  succedaneum. 

Quod  caput,  cerebrum,  et  craniftm 

Pondere  liberct  exoso, 

Et  morbo  jam  caliginoso ! 

'Tis  here ;  this  oval  box  well  fill'd 

With  best  tobacco,  finely  milFd, 

Beats  all  Anticyra's  pretences 

To  disengage  the  encumber'd  senses. 

0  Nymph  of  Transatlantic  fame. 
Where'er  thine  haunt,  whatever  thy  namej 
Whether  reposing  on  the  side 
Of  Oroonoquo's  spacious  tide, 
Or  listening  with  delight  not  small 
To  Niagara's  distant  fall ! 
'Tis  thine  to  cherish  and  to  feed 
The  pungent  nose-refreshing  weed, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  505 

"Which,  whether  pulverized  it  gain 

A  speedy  passage  to  tlie  brain, 

Or  Avhether,  touch'd  with  fire,  it  rise 

In  circling  eddies  to  tlie  skies — 

Does  thought  more  quicken  and  refine 

Than  all  the  breath  of  all  the  Nine ; 

Forgive  the  bard,  if  bard  he  be, 

Who  once  too  wantonly  made  free 

To  touch  with  a  satiric  wipe 

That  symbol  of  thy  power,  the  pipe-. 

So  may  no  blight  infest  thy  plains. 

And  no  unseasonable  rains  ; 

And  so  may  smiling  Peace  once  more 

Visit  America's  sad  shore ; 

And  thou,  secure  from  all  alarms 

Of  thundering  drums  and  glittering  arms, 

Rove  unconfined  beneath  the  shade 

Thy  wide  expanded  leaves  have  made ; 

So  may  thy  votaries  increase, 

And  fumigation  never  cease; 

May  Newton  with  renewed  delights 

Perform  thine  odoriferous  rites, 

With  clouds  of  incense  half  divine 

Involve  thy  disappearing  shrine; 

And  so  may  smoke-inhaling  Bull 

Be  always  filling,  never  full! 


EPITAPH  ON  MRS.  M.  HIGGINS, 

OF    WESTONc 

Laurels  may  flourish  round  the  conqueror's  tomb,~ 
But  happiest  they  w4io  win  the  world  to  come  : 
Believers  have  a  silent  field  to  fight. 
And  their  exploits  are  veiPd  from  human  sight. 
They  in  some  nook,  where  little  known  they  dwell,. 
Kneel,  pray  in  faith,  and  rout  the  hosts  of  hell ; 
Eternal  triumphs  crown  their  toils  divine, 
And  all  those  triumphs,  Mary,  now  are  thine. 
1791. 

43 


506  cowper's  poetical  works. 


SONNET  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

Deem  not,  sweet  rose,  that  bloom'st  midst  many  a  thorn, 

Thy  friend,  though  to  a  cloister's  shade  consigned, 

Can  e'er  forget  the  charms  he  left  behind, 

Or  pass  unheeded  this  auspicious  morn ! 

In  happier  days  to  brighter  prospects  born, 

Oh  tell  thy  thoughtless  sex,  the  virtuous  mind, 

Like  thee.  Content  in  every  state  may  find. 

And  look  on  Folly's  pageantry  with  scorn. 

To  steer  with  nicest  art  betwixt  the  extreme 

Of  idle  mirth,  and  affectation  coy — 

To  blend  good  sense  with  elegance  and  ease — 

To  bid  Affliction's  eye  no  longer  stream. 

Is  thine;  best  gift,  the  unfaihng  source  of  joy, 

The  guide  to  pleasures  which  can  never  cease ! 


ON  A  MISTAKE  IN  HIS   TRANSLATION  OF  HOMER. 

CowPEE  h.ad  sinn'd  with  some  excuse, 

If,  bound  in  rhyming  tethers. 
He  had  committed  this  abuse 

Of  changing  ewes  for  wethers  ;^ 

But  male  for  female  is  a  trope, 

Or  rather  bold  misnomer. 
That  would  have  startled  even  Pope, 

When  he  translated  Homer. 


ON  THE  BENEFIT  RECEIVED  BY  HIS  MAJESTY 
FROM  SEA-BATHING  IN  THE  YEAR  1789. 

O  Sovereign  of  an  isle  renown'd 

For  undisputed  sway ! 
Wherever  o'er  yon  gulf  profound 

Her  navies  Aving  their  way ; 

'  I  havG  heard  about  my  wether  mutton  from  various  quarters.  It  wa» 
a  blunder  hardly  pardonable  in  a  man  v/ho  has  lived  amid  fields  and  meadowa 
grazed  by  sheep  almost  these  thirty  years.    I  have  accordingly  satirized  my- 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  507 

With  juster  claims  she  builds  at  length 

Her  empire  on  the  sea ; 
And  well  may  boast  the  waves  her  strength, 

Which  strength  restored  to  thee. 


ADDRESSED  TO  MISS  - 


ON    READING    THE    "  PRAYER   FOR    INDIFFERENCE,      AN    ODE 
BY    MRS.    GREVILLE. 

And  dwells  there  in  a  female  heart, 

By  bounteous  Heaven  design'd, 
The  choicest  raptures  to  impart, 

To  feel  the  most  refined — 

Dwells  there  a  wish  in  such  a  breast 

Its  nature  to  forego ; 
To  smother  in  ignoble  rest 

At  once  both  bliss  and  woe  ? 

Far  be  the  thought,  and  far  the  strain, 

Which  breathes  the  low  desire, 
How  sweet  soe'er  the  verse  complain. 

Though  Phoebus  string  the  lyre ! 

Come,  then,  fair  maid  (in  nature  wise), 

Who,  knowing  them,  can  tell 
From  generous  sympathy  what  joys 

The  glowing  bosom  swell : 

Injustice  to  the  various  powers 

Of  pleasing,  which  you  share. 
Join  me,  amid  your  silent  hours, 

To  form  the  better  prayer. 

With  lenient  balm  may  Oberon  hence 

To  fairy -land  be  driven. 
With  every  herb  that  blunts  the  sense 

Mankind  received  from  heaven. 

self  in  two  stanzas  which  I  composed  last  night,  while  I  lay  awake,  tormented 
with  pain,  and  well  dosed  with  laudanum.  If  you  find  them  not  very  bril- 
liant, therefore,  you  will  know  how  to  account  for  it— Letter  to  Joseph  Hill^  ■ 
Esq.,  dated  April  15. 1TV2 


508  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"  Oh !  if  my  sovereign  Author  please, 

Far  be  it  from  my  fate 
To  live  unblest  in  torpid  ease, 

And  slumber  on  in  state; 

"  Each  tender  tie  of  life  defied, 
Whence  social  pleasures  spring, 

Unmoved  with  all  the  world  beside, 
A  solitary  thing" — 

Some  Alpine  mountam,  wrapt  in  snow. 
Thus  braves  the  whirling  blast. 

Eternal  winter  doom'd  to  know, 
No  genial  spring  to  taste. 

In  vain  warm  suns  their  influence  shed, 

The  zephyrs  sport  in  vain, 
He  rears  unchanged  his  barren  head, 

Whilst  beauty  decks  the  plain. 

What  though,  in  scaly  armor  dress'd, 

Indifference  may  repel 
The  shafts  of  woe — in  such  a  breast 

No  joy  can  ever  dwell. 

'Tis  woven  in  the  world's  great  plan, 
And  fix'd  by  Heaven's  decree. 

That  all  the  true  delights  of  man 
Should  spring  from  sympathy. 

'Tis  nature  bids,  and  whilst  the  laws 

Of  nature  we  retain, 
Our  self-approving  bosom  draws 

A  pleasure  from  its  pain. 

Thus  grief  itself  has  comforts  dear 

The  sordid  never  know  ; 
And  ecstasy  attends  the  tear 

When  Virtue  bids  it  flow. 

Eor,  when  it  streams  from  that  pure  source. 

No  bribes  the  heart  can  win 
To  check,  or  alter  from  its  course, 

The  luxury  within. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  509 

Peace  to  the  phlegm  of  sullen  elves, 

Who,  if  from  labor  eased. 
Extend  no  care  beyond  themselves, 

Unpleasing  and  unpleased. 

Let  no  low  thought  suggest  the  prayer, 

Oh!  grant,  kind  Heaven,  to  me, 
Long  as  T  draw  ethereal  air. 

Sweet  Sensibility ! 

"Where'er  the  heavenly  ^N'ympli  is  seen, 

With  lustre-beaming  eye, 
A  train,  attendant  on  their  queen, 

(Her  rosy  chorus)  fly  ; 

The  jocund  Loves  in  Hymen's  band, 

With  torclies  ever  bright, 
And  generous  Friendship,  hand  in  hand 

With  Pity's  watery  sight. 

The  gentler  virtues  too  are  join'd 

In  youth  immortal  warm; 
The  soft  relations,  which,  combined, 

Give  life  her  every  charm. 

The  Arts  come  smiling  in  the  close, 

And  lend  celestial  fire  ; 
The  marble  breathes,  the  canvas  glows, 

The  Muses  sweep  the  lyre. 

"  Still  may  my  melting  bosom  cleave 

To  sufferings  not  my  own  ; 
And  still  the  sigh  responsive  heave. 

Where'er  is  heard  a  groan. 

"  So  Pity  shall  take  Virtue's  part^ 

Her  natural  ally  ; 
And,  fashioning  my  soften'd  heart. 

Prepare  it  for  the  sky." 

This  artless  vow  may  Heaven  receive, 

And  you,  fond  maid,  approve  : 
So  may  your  guiding  angel  give     ' 

Whatever  you  wish  or  love! 


510  cowper's  poetical  works. 

So  may  the  rosy-finger'd  hours 
Lead  on  the  various  year ; 

And  every  joy,  which  now  is  yours, 
Extend  a  larger  sphere  ! 

And  suns  to  come,  as  round  they  wheel, 
Your  golden  moments  hless 

With  all  a  tender  heart  can  feel. 
Or  lively  fancy  guess  ! 


FEOM  A  LETTER  TO  THE  KEY.  MR.  NEWTON", 

LATE  RECTOR  OF  ST.  MARY,  WOOLNOTII. 

Says  the  Pipe  to  the  Snuff-box,  I  can't  understand 
What  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  see  in  your  face — 

That  you  are  in  fashion  all  over  the  land, 
And  I  am  so  much  fallen  into  disgrace. 

Do  but  see  what  a  pretty  contemplative  air 

I  give  to  the  company — pray  do  but  note  'em — - 

You  would  think  that  the  wise  men  of  Greece  were  all  there, 
Or  at  least  would  suppose  them  the  Avise  men  of  Gotham. 

My  breath  is  as  sweet  as  the  breath  of  blown  roses. 
While  you  are  a  nuisance  where'er  you  appear ; 

There  is  nothing  but  snivelling  and  blowing  of  noses, 
Such  a  noise  as  turns  a  man's  stomach  to  hear. 

Then,  lifting  his  lid  in  a  delicate  way. 

And  opening  his  mouth  with  a  smile  quite  engaging, 
The  Box  in  reply  was  heard  plainly  to  say. 

What  a  silly  dispute  is  this  we  are  waging ! 

If  you  have  a  little  of  merit  to  claim, 

You  may  thank  the  sweet-smelhng  Virginian  weed ; 
And  I,  if  I  seem  to  deserve  any  blame. 

The  before-mention'd  drug  in  apology  plead. 

Thus  neither  the  praise  nor  the  blame  is  our  own, 
!N"o  room  for  a  sneer,  much  less  a  cachinnus ; 

We  are  vehicles',  not  of  tobacco  alone, 

But  of  any  thing  else  they  may  choose  to  put  in  us. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  511 

THE  FLATTIA'G  MILL. 

AN    ILLUSTRATION. 

When"  a  bar  of  pure  silver  or  ingot  of  gold 
Is  -sent  to  be  flatted  or  wrought  into  length, 
It  is  pass'd  between  cylinders  often,  and  roll'd 
In  an  engine  of  utmost  mechanical  strength. 

Thus  tortured  and  squeezed,  at  last  it  appears 
Like  a  loose  heap  of  ribbon,  a  glittering  show ; 
Like  music  it  tinkles  and  rings  in  your  ears, 
And,  warm'd  by  the  pressure,  is  all  in  a  glow. 

This  process  achieved,  it  is  doom'd  to  sustain 
The  thump  after  thump  of  a  gold-beater's  mallet : 
And  at  last  is  of  service  in  sickness  or  pain. 
To  cover  a  pill  for  a  delicate  palate. 

Alas  for  the  poet !  who  dares  undertake 

To  urge  reformation  of  national  ill — 

His  head  and  his  heart  are  both  likely  to  ache 

With  the  double  employment  of  mallet  and  mill. 

If  he  wish  to  instruct,  he  must  learn  to  delight; 
Smooth,  ductile,  and  even,  his  fancy  must  flow — 
Must  tinkle  and  glitter,  like  gold  to  the  sight. 
And  catch  in  its  progress  a  sensible  glow. 

After  all  he  must  beat  it  as  thin  and  as  fine 
As  the  leaf  that  enfolds  what  an  invalid  swallows ; 
For  truth  is  unwelcome,  however  divine  ; 
And  unless  you  adorn  it,  a  nausea  follows. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  FREE  BUT  TAME  REDBREAST, 

A    FAVORITE    OF    MISS    SALLY    HURDIS. 

These  are  not  dewdrops ;  these  are  tears, 

And  tears  by  Sally  shed 
For  absent  Robin,  who  she  fears, 

With  too  much  cause,  is  dead. 


512  cowper's  poetical  works. 

One  morn  he  came  not  to  her  hand, 
As  he  was  wont  to  come, 

And,  on  her  finger  perch'd,  to  stand 
Picking  his  breakfast-crumb. 

AlarmM,  she  calFd  him,  and  perplexM, 
She  sought  him,  but  in  vain — 

That  day  he  came  not,  nor  the  next, 
Nor  ever  came  again. 

She  therefore  raised  him  here  a  tomb, 
Though  where  he  fell,  or  how, 

Kone  knows,  so  secret  was  his  doom. 
Nor  where  he  moulders  now. 

Had  half  a  score  of  coxcombs  died 

In  social  Robin's  stead. 
Poor  Sally's  tears  had  soon  been  dried, 

Or  haply  never  shed. 

But  Bob  was  neither  rudely  bold 

Nor  spiritlessly  tame ; 
Nor  was,  like  theirs,  his  bosom  cold, 

But  always  in  a  flame. 

March,  1792. 


SONNET, 

ADDRESSED   TO   WILLIAM    HAYLEY,  ESQ. 

Hatley — thy  tenderness  fraternal  shown 
In  our  first  interview,  delightful  guest! 
To  Mary,  and  me  for  her  dear  sake  distressed. 

Such  as  it  is,  has  made  my  heart  thy  own, 

Though  heedless  now  of  new  engagements  grown ; 
For  threescore  winters  make  a  wintry  breast. 
And  I  had  purposed  ne'er  to  go  in  quest 

Of  friendship  more,  except  with  God  alone. 
But  thou  hast  won  me ;  nor  is  God  my  foe. 

Who,  ere  this  last  aflflictive  scene  began. 
Sent  thee  to  mitigate  the  dreadful  blow. 
My  brother,  by  whose  sympathy  I  know 

Thy  true  deserts  infallibly  to  scan, 

Not  more  to  admire  the  bard  than  love  the  man. 

June  2, 1792. 


•  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  513 


AN  EPITAPH. 

Here  lies  one  who  never  drew 
Blood  himself,  yet  many  slew ; 
Gave  the  gun  its  aim,  and  figure 
Made  in  field,  yet  ne'er  pulPd  trigger. 
Armed  men  have  gladly  made 
Him  their  guide,  and  him  oheyVI ; 
At  his  signified  desire 
"Would  advance,  present,  and  fire. 
Stout  he  -vvas,  and  large  of  limb. 
Scores  have  fled  at  sight  of  him! 
And  to  all  this  fame  he  rose 
Only  following  his  nose. 
Neptufte  w^as  he  call'd  ;  not  he 
Who  controls  the  boisterous  sea ; 
But  of  happier  command, 
ITeptune  of  the  furrow'd  land  • 
And,  your  wonder  vain  to  shorten, 
Pointer  to  Sir  John  Throckmorton. 

1T92. 


ON  RECEIVING  HAYLEY'S  PICTURE. 

In  language  warm  as  could  be  breathed  or  penned 
Thy  picture  speaks  the  original,  my  friend, 
Kot  by  those  looks  that  indicate  thy  mind — 
They  only  speak  thee  friend  of  all  mankind ; 
Expression  here  more  sootlnng  still  I  see, 
That  friend  of  all  a  partial  friend  to  me. 

January,  1T93. 


ON  A  PLANT   OF  VIRGIN'S   BOWER, 

DESIGNED  TO  COVER  A  GARDEN-SEAT. 

TnmvE,  gentle  plant!  and  weave  a  bower 

For  Mary  and  for  me ; 
And  deck  with  many  a  splendid  flower, 

Thy  foliage  large  and  free. 


514  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Thou  earnest  from  Eartham,  and  wilt  shade 

(If  truly  I  divine) 
Some  future  day  the  illustrious  head 

Of  him  w^ho  made  thee  mine. 

Should  Daphne  show  a  jealous  frown, 

And  envy  seize  the  bay, 
Affirming  none  so  fit  to  crown 

Such  honor'd  brows  as  they — 

Thy  cause  with  zeal  we  shall  defend. 
And  with  convincing-power; 

For  why  should  not  the  virgin's  friend 
Be  crown'd  with  virgin's  bower? 
Spring  of  1793. 


ON  RECEIVING  HEYNE'S  VIRGIL 

FROM  MR.  IIAYLEY. 

I  snoiJLD  have  deem'd  it  once  an  effort  vain 
To  sweeten  more  sweet  Maro's  matchless  strain ; 
But  from  that  error  now  behold  me  free, 
Since  I  received  him  as  a  gift  from  thee. 

October,  1793. 


LINES  ON  A  SLEEPING  INFANT. 

Sweet  babe !  whose  image  here  expressed 
Does  thy  peaceful  slumbers  show; 

Guilt  or  fear,  to  break  thy  rest, 
Never  did  thy  spirit  know. 

Soothing  slumbers !  soft  repose, 
Such  as  mock  the  painter's  skill, 

Such  as  innocence  bestows. 
Harmless  infant !  lull  thee  still. 


LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  MISS  THEODORA  JANE 
COWPER. 

William  Avas  once  a  bashful  youth ; 
His  modesty  was  such, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  515 

That  one  might  say,  to  say  the  truth, 
He  rather  had  too  much. 

Some  said  that  it  was  want  of  sense, 

And  others,  want  of  spirit 
(So  blest  a  thing  is  impudenoe), 

While  others  could  not  bear  it. 

But  some  a  different  notion  had. 

And,  at  each  other  winking, 
Observed  that  though  he  little  said, 

He  paid  it  off  with  thinking. 

Howe'er,  it  happened,  by  degrees. 

He  mended,  and  grew  perter — 
In  company  was  more  at  ease. 

And  dress'd  a  little  smarter ; 

ITay,  now  and  then,  could  look  quite  gay, 

As  other  people  do ; 
And  sometimes  said,  or  tried  to  say, 

A  witty  thing  or  so. 

He  eyed  the  women,  and  made  free 

To  comment  on  their  shapes  ; 
So  that  there  was,  or  seem'd  to  be, 

No  fear  of  a  relapse. 

The  women  said,  who  thought  him  rough, 

Bilt  now  no  longer  foohsh, 
"  The  creature  may  do  well  enough. 

But  wants  a  deal  of  polish." 

At  length  improved  from  head  to  heel, 

'Twere  scarce  too  much  to  say, 
No  dancing  beau  was  so  genteel, 

Or  half  so  degage. 

Now  that  a  miracle  so  strange 

May  not  in  vain  be  shown. 
Let  the  dear  maid  who  wrought  the  change 

Even  claim  him  for  her  own ! 


TO  THE  SAME. 

How  quick  the  change  from  joy  to  woe, 
How  checkered  is  our  lot  below ! 


516  cowper's  poetical  works 

Seldom  we  view  tlie  prospect  fair ; 
Dark  clouds  of  sorrow,  pain,  and  care 
(Some  pleasing  intervals  between), 
Scowl  over  more  than  half  the  scene. 
Last  week  with  Delia,  gentle  maid ! 
Far  hence  in  happier  fields  I  stray'd. 
JFive  suns  successive  rose  and  set, 
And  saw  no  monarch  in  his  state, 
"Wrapt  in  the  blaze  of  majesty. 
So  free  from  every  care  as  I. 
Next  day  the  scene  was  overcast — 
Such  day  till  then  I  never  pass'd ; 
For  on  that  day,  relentless  fate ! 
Delia  and  I  must  separate. 
Yet  ere  we  look'd  our  last  farewell, 
From  her  dear  lips  this  comfort  fell — 
"  Fear  not  that  time,  where'er  we  rove, 
Or  absence,  shall  abate  my  love." 


LINES. 


Oh  !  to  some  distant  scene,  a  willing  exile 

From  the  wild  roar  of  this  busy  world, 

"Were  it  my  fate  with  Delia  to  retire — 

"With  her  to  wander  through  the  sylvan  shade, 

Each  morn,  or  o'er  the  moss-embrowned  turf, 

AVhere,  blest  as  the  prime  parents  of  mankind 

In  their  own  Eden,  we  would  envy  none. 

But,  greatly  pitying  whom  the  world  calls  happy, 

Gently  spin  out  the  silken  thread  of  life ! 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  MOSS-HOUSE  IN  THE  SHRUB- 
BERY AT  WESTON. 

Here,  free  from  Riot's  hated  nois 
Be  mine,  ye  calmer,  purer  joys, 

A  book  or  friend  bestows ; 
Far  from  the  storms  that  shake  the  great, 
Contentment's  gale  shall  fan  my  seat, 

And  sweeten  my  repose. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  51  7 


LINES  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  WILLIAM  RUSSEL. 

Doom'd,  as  I  am,  in  solitude  to  waste 
Tlie  present  moments,  and  regret  the  past ; 
Deprived  of  every  joy  I  valued  most, 
My  friend  torn  from  me,  and  my  mistress  lost ; 
Call  not  this  gloom  I  wear,  this  anxious  mien, 
The  dull  effect  of  humor,  or  of  spleen ! 
Still,  still  I  mourn,  with  each  returning  da}^, 
Ilim^  snatch'd  by  fate  in  early  youth  away ; 
And  her — through  tedious  years  of  doabt  and  pain, 
Fix'd  in  her  choice,  and  faitliful — but  in  vain  ! 
Oh  prone  to  pity,  generous,  and  sincere. 
Whose  eye  ne'er  yet  refused  the  wretch  a  tear ; 
Whose  heart  the  real  claim  of  friendship  knows, 
NTor  thinks  a  lover's  are  but  fancied  woes ; 
See  me — ere  yet  my  destined  course  half  done. 
Oast  forth  a  wanderer  on  a  world  unknown ! 
See  me  neglected  on  the  world's  rude  coast, 
Each  dear  companion  of  my  voyage  lost ! 
NTor  ask  why  clouds  of  sorrow  shade  my  brow, 
And  ready  tears  wait  only  leave  to  flow ! 
Why  all  that  soothes  a  heart  from  anguish  free. 
All  that  delights  the  happy — palls  with  me ! 


TO  MRS.  NEWTON. 

A  NOBLE  theme  demands  a  noble  verse,     . 

In  such  I  thank  you  for  your  fine  oysters, 

Tlie  barrel  was  magnificently  large. 

But,  being  sent  to  Olney  at  free  charge. 

Was  not  inserted  in  the  driver's  list. 

And  therefore  overlook'd,  forgot,  or  miss'd ; 

For,  when  the  messenger  whom  we  dispatch'd 

Inquired  for  oysters.  Hob  his  noddle  scratch'd ; 

Denying  that  his  wagon  or  his  wain 

Did  any  such  commodity  contain. 

In  consequence  of  which,  your  welcome  boon 

Did  not  arrive  till  yesterday  at  noon : 

1  Sir  AVilliam  Russel,  the  favorite  friend  of  the  young  poet 
44 


518  cowper's  poetical  works. 

In  consequence  of  wliich  some  chanced  to  die, 
And  some,  tliougb  very  sweet,  were  very  dry. 
Now  Madam  says  (and  what  she  says  must  still 
Deserve  attention,  say  she  what  she  will), 
That  what  Ave  call  the  dihgence,  be-case 
It  goes  to  London  with  a  swifter  pace. 
Would  better  suit  the  carriage  of  your  gift, 
Eeturning  downward  with  a  pace  as  swift ; 
And  therefore  recommends  it  with  this  aim — 
To  save  at  least  three  da^^s, — the  price  the  same  ; 
For  though  it  will  not  carry  or  convey 
For  less  than  twelve  pence,  send  w^hate'er  you  may ; 
For  oysters  bred  upon  the  salt  sea-shore. 
Packed  in  a  barrel,  they  will  charge  no  more. 

News  have  I  none  that  I  can  deign  to  write. 
Save  that  it  rain'd  prodigiously  last  night , 
And  that  ourselves  were,  at  the  seventh  hour, 
Caught  in  the  first  beginning  of  the  siiower  ; 
But  walking,  running,  and  with  much  ado, 
Got  home — -just  time  enough  to  be  wet  through ; 
Yet  both  are  well,  and,  wondrous  to  be  told. 
Soused  as  we  were,  we  yet  have  caught  no  cold ; 
And  wishing  just  the  same  good  hap  to  you, 
We  say,  good  Madam,  and  good  Sir,  adieu ! 


VERSES  PRINTED  BY  HIMSELF,  ON  A  FLOOD  AT 
OLNEY 

To  watch  the  storms,  and  hear  the  sky 
Give  all  our  almanacs  the  lie  ; 
To  shake  with  cold,  and  see  the  plains 
In  autumn  drown'd  with  wintry  rains 
'Tis  thus  I  spend  my  moments  here. 
And  wish  myself  a  Dutch  mynheer ; 
I  then  should  have  no  need  of  wit ; 
For  lumpish  Hollander  unfit ! 
Nor  should  I  then  repme  at  mud. 
Or  meadows  deluged  witli  a  flood ; 
-  But  in  a  bog  live  well  content, 
And  find  it  just  my  element , 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  519 

Should  be  a  clod,  and  not  a  man, 
Nor  wish  in  vain  for  sister  Anne, 
"With  charitable  aid  to  drag 
My  mind  out  of  its  proper  quag; 
Should  have  the  genius  of  a  boor, 
And  no  ambition  to  have  more. 


ON  THE  KECEirr  OF  A  HAMPER. 

(in  the  manner  of  homer.) 

The  straw-stuff'd  hamper  with  his  ruthless  steel 
He  open'd,  cutting  sheer  tlie  inserted  cords 
Which  bound  the  lid  and  lip  secure.     Forth  came 
The  rusthng  package  first,  bright  straw  of  wheat. 
Or  oats,  or  barley  ,  next  a  bottle  green 
Throat-full,  clear  spirits  the  contents,  distill'd 
Drop  after  drop  odorous,  by  tlie  art 
Of  the  fair  mother  of  his  friend — the  Rose. 


ON  THE  NEGLECT  OF  HOMER. 

Could  Homer  come  himself,  distress'd  and  poor, 
And  tune  his  harp  at  Rhedicina's  door. 
The  rich  old  vixen  would  exclaim  (I  fear), 
"  Begone !  no  tramper  gets  a  farthing  here." 


ON  TOE  HIGH  PRICE  OF  FISH 

CocoA-NUT  naught. 
Fish  too  dear. 
None  must  be  bought 
For  us  that  are  here : 

No  lobster  on  earth, 
That  ever  I  saw. 
To  me  would  be  worth 
Sixpence  a  claw. 


520  cowper's  poetical  works. 

So,  dear  madam,  wait 
Till  fish  can  be  got 
At  a  reas'nable  rate, 
Wliether  lobster  or  not ; 

Till  the  French  and  the  Dutch 
Have  quitted  the  seas, 
And  then  send  as  much 
And  as  oft  as  you  please. 


LATIK  POEMS  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 


MONTES  GLACIALES,  IN  OCEANO  GERMANICO 
NATANTES. 

En,  qufc  procligia,  ex  oris  allata  remotis, 
Oras  adveniunt  pavefacta  per  aequora  nostras! 
Non  equidem  priscse  saaclum  rediisse  videtur 
Pjrrhse,  cum  Proteus  pecus  altos  visere  montes 
Et  sylvas,  egit.     Sed  tempora  vix  teviora 
Adsunt,  evulsi  quando  radicitus  alti 
In  mare  descendunt  montes,  fluctusque  pererrant. 
Quid  vero  hoc  monstri  est  magis  et  mirabile  visu  ? 
Splendentes  video,  ceu  pulchro  ex  sere  vel  auro 
Conflatos,  rutilisque  accinctos  undique  gemmis, 
Bacca  caerule^,  et  flammas  imitante  pyropo. 
Ex  oriente  adsunt,  ubi  gazas  optima  tellus 
Parturit  onmigenas,  quibus  86va  per  omnia  sumptu 
Ingenti  finxere  sibi  diademata  reges  ? 
Vix  hoc  crediderim.     ISTon  falkint  talia  acutos 
Mercatorum  oculos  :  prius  et  quam  littora  Gangis 
Liquissent,  avidis  gratissima  pra)da  fuissent. 
Ortos  unde  putemus  ?     An  illos  VesVius  atrox 
Protuht,  ignivomisve  ejecit  faucibus  JEtna? 
Luce  micant  propria,  Phoebive,  per  aera  pururn 
Nunc  stimulantis  equos,  argentea  tela  retorquent? 
Phoebi  luce  micant.     Ventis  et  fluctibus  altis 
Appulsi,  et  rapidis  subter  currentibus  undis, 
Tandem  non  fallunt  oculos.     Capita  alta  videre  est 
Mult^  onerata  nive  et  canis  conspersa  pruinis. 
OsBtera  sunt  glacies.   Procijl  hinc,  ubi  Bruma  fere  omnes 
Oontristat  menses,  portenta  ha)c  horrida  nobis 
Ilia  strui  vohiit.     Quoties  de  culmine  summo 
Olivorum  fluerent  in  littora  prona,  soluta) 
Sole,  nives,  propero  tendentes  in  mare  cursu, 


522  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Ilia  gelu  fixit.     Paulatim  attollere  sese 
Mirum  coepit  opus  ;  glacieque  ab  origine  rerum 
In  glaciein  aggesta  sublimes  vertice  tandem 
JEquavit  montes,  non  crescere  nescia  moles. 
Sic  immensa  diu  stetit,  £©ternumque  stetisset 
Congeries,  hominum  neque  vi  neque  mobilis  arte, 
Littora  ni  tandem  declivia  deseruisset, 
Pondere  victa  suo.     Dilabitur.     Omnia  circum 
Antra  et  saxa  gemunt,  subito  concussa  fragere, 
Bum  ruit  in  pelagum,  tauquam  studiosa  natandi, 
Ingens  tota  strues.     Sic  Delos  dicitur  olim, 
Insula,  in  Mgodo  fluitasse  erratica  ponto. 
Sed  non  ex  glacie  Delos;  neque  torpida  Delum 
Bruma  inter  rupes  genuit  nudum  sterilemque. 
Sed  vestita  herbis  erat  ilia,  ornataque  nunquam 
Decidua  lauro ;  et  Delum  dilexit  Apollo. 
At  vos,  errones  liorrendi,  et  caligine  digni 
Cimmeria,  Deus  idem  odit.     Natalia  vestra, 
Nubibus  involvens  frontem,  non  ille  tueri 
Sustinuit.     Patrium  vos  ergo  requirite  coslum ! 
Ite !  Redite !  Timete  moras ;  ni  leniter  austro 
Spirante,  et  nitidas  Phosbo  jaculante  sagittas 
Hostili  vobis,  pereatis  gurgite  misti! 

March  11,  j799. 

ON  THE  ICE  ISLANDS  SEEN  FLOATING  IN  THE 
GERMAN  OCEAN. 

What  portents,  from  Avliat  distant  region,  ride, 

Unseen  till  now  in  ours,  the  astonisli'd  tide  ? 

In  ages  past,  old  Proteus,  with  his  droves 

Of  sea-calves,  sought  the  mountains  and  the  groves. 

But  noAv,  descending  whence  of  late  they  stood, 

Themselves  the  mountains  seem  to  rove  the  flood. 

Dire  times  were  they,  full  charged  with  human  woes ; 

And  these,  scarce  less  calamitous  than  those. 

What  view  we  now  ?     More  wondrous  still !     Behold ! 

Like  banish'd  brass  they  shine,  or  beaten  gold ; 

And  all  around  the  pearPs  pure  splendor  show, 

And  all  around  the  ruby's  fiery  glow. 

Come  they  from  India,  where  the  burning  Earth, 

All  bounteous,  gives  her  richest  treasures  birth ; 

And  where  the  costly  gems,  that  beam  around 


LATIN    POEMS    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  523 

The  brows  of  miglitiest  potentates,  are  found? 

^"0.     Kever  such  a  countless  dazzling  store 

Had  left  unseen  the  Ganges'  peopled  shore. 

Rapacious  hands,  and  ever-watchful  eyes, 

Should  sooner  far  have  niark'd  and  seized  the  prize. 

Whence  sprang  they  then?     Ejected  have  they  come 

From  Vesuvius',  or  from  JEtna's  burning  womb  ? 

Thus  shine  they  self-illumed,  or  but  display 

The  borro^'d  splendors  of  a  cloudless  day  ? 

AVith  borrow'd  beams  they  shine.    The  gales  that  breathe 

Now  landward,  and  the  current's  force  beneath. 

Have  borne  them  nearer:  and  the  nearer  sight, 

Advantaged  more,  contem])lates  them  aright. 

Their  lofty  summits  crested  high  they  show, 

With  mingled  sleet,  and  long-incumbent  snow. 

The  rest  is  ice.     Far  hence,  where,  most  severe, 

Bleak  winter  well-nigh  saddens  all  the  year, 

Their  infant  growth  began.     He  bade  arise 

Their  uncouth  forms,  portentous  in  our  eyes. 

Oft  as  dissolved  by  transient  suns,  the  snow 

Left  the  tall  cliff,  to  join  the  flood  below ; 

He  caught,  and  curdled  with  a  freezing  blast 

The  current,  ere  it  reach'd  the  boundless  waste. 

By  slow  degrees  uprose  the  w^ondrous  pile, 

And  long  successive  ages  roll'd  the  while ; 

Till,  ceaseless  in  its  growth,  it  claim'd  to  stand 

Tall  as  its  rival  mountains  on  the  land. 

Thus  stood,  and,  unremovable  by  skill 

Or  force  of  man,  had  stood  the  structure  still, 

But  that,  though  firmly  fix'd,  supplanted  yet 

By  pressure  of  its  own  enormous  weight. 

It  left  the  shelving  beach — and,  with  a  sound 

That  shook  the  bellowing  waves  and  rocks  around, 

Self-launch'd,  and  swiftly,  to  the  briny  wave, 

As  if  instinct  with  strong  desire  to  lave, 

Down  went  the  ponderous  mass.     So  bards  of  old 

How  Delos  swam  the  ^gean  deep  have  told. 

But  not  of  ice  was  Delos.     Delos  bore 

Herb,  fruit,  and  flower.     She,  crown'd  with  laurel,  wore, 

Even  under  wintry  skies,  a  summer  smile; 

And  Delos  was  Apollo's  favorite  isle. 

But,  horrid  wanderers  of  the  deep,  to  you 

He  deems  Cimmerian  darkness  only  due. 


524  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Your  hated  birth  he  deign VI  not  to  survey, 
But,  scornful,  turn'd  his  glorious  eyes  away. 
Hence,  seek  your  home,  nor  longer  rashly  dare 
The  darts  of  Phoebus  and  a  softer  air ; 
Lest  ye  regret,  too  late,  your  native  coast, 
In  no  congenial  gulf  forever  lost ! 
March  19,  1799. 


MONUMENTAL  INSCRIPTION  TO  WILLIAM  NOETHCOI 

Hic  sepultus  est 
Inter  suorum  lacrynias 

GULIELMUS  NORTHCOT, 
GULIELMI  ET  MaRI^  filiuS 

Unicus,  unice  dilectus. 

Qui  floris  ritu  succisus  est  semihiantis, 

Aprihs  die  septimo, 

1780.  ^t.  10. 

Care,  vale !     Sed  non  seternum,  care,  valeto ! 

Namque  iterum  tecum,  sim  modo  dignus,  ero. 
Tum  nihil  am  plexus  poterit  divellere  nostros, 

Nee  tu  marcesces,  nee  lacrymabor  ego. 

TRANSLATION. 

Farewell  !  '•'•  But  not  forever,''  Hope  replies — 
Trace  but  his  steps  and  meet  him  in  the  skies ! 
There  nothing  shall  renew  our  parting  pain, 
Thou  shalt  not  wither,  nor  I  weep  again. 


IN  SEDITIONEM  HORRENDAM, 

CORRUPTELIS  GALLICIS,  UT  FERTUR,  LONDINI  NUPER  EXORTAM. 

Perfida,  crudelis,  victa  et  lymphata  furore, 

Non  armis,  laurum  Gallia  fraude  petit. 
Venalem  pretio  plebem  conducit,  et  urit 

Undique  privatas  patriciasque  domos. 
Nequicquam  conata  sua,  foedissima  sperat 

Posse  tamen  nostra  nos  superare  manu. 
Gallia,  vana  struis  !     Precibus  nunc  utere  !    Vinces, 

Nam  mites  timidis,  supplicibusque  sumus. 


I 


LATIN    POEMS    AKD    TRANSLATIONS.  525 


TRANSLATION. 

False,  cruel,  disfippointed,  stung  to  the  heart, 
France  quits  the  warrior's  for  the  assassin's  part, 
To  dirty  hands  a  dirty  bribe  conveys. 
Bids  the  low  street  and  lofty  palace  blaze. 
Her  sons  too  weak  to  vanquish  us  alone. 
She  hires  the  worst  and  basest  of  our  own. 
Kneel,  France !  a  suppliant  conquers  us  with  ease, 
We  always  spare  a  coward  on  his  knees. 


MOTTO  ON  A  CLOCK. 

WITH  A   translation  BY  HAYLEY. 

Qu^  lenta  accedit,  quani  velox  praaterit  hora! 
Ut  capias,  patiens  esto,  sed  esto  vigil ! 

SloAv  comes  the  hour ;  its  passing  speed  how  great! 
Waiting  to  seize  it — vigilantly  wait ! 


A  SIMILE  LATINIZED. 

SoRS  adversa  gerit  stiinulum,  sed  tendit  et  alas! 
Pungit  api  similis,  sed  velut  ista  fugit. 


VERSES^  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  LLOYD. 

Abut  senex.     Periit  senex  amabilis, 

Quo  non  fuit  jucundior. 
Lugete  vos,  getas  quibus  maturior 

Seneni  colendum  pra3stitit ; 
Seu  quando,  viribus  valentioribus 

Firmoque  fretus  pectore, 
Florentiori  vos  juventute  excolens 

Cur^  fovebat  patri^ ; 
Seu  quando,  fractus,  janique  donatus  rude 

Vultu  sed  usque  blandulo, 

*  "Written  by  Pr.  Vincent.    Cowper's  English  version  of  them  will  be 
found  below. 


526  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Miscere  gaudebat  suas  facetias 

His  annuls  leporibus. 
Yixit  probus,  puraque  simplex  indole, 

Blandisque  comis  moribus, 
Et  dives  sdquk  mente,  chariis  omnibus, 

Unius  auctus  munere. 
Ite,  tituli !     Meritis  beatioribus 

Aptate  laudes  debitas ! 
Kec  invidebat  ille,  si  quibus  favens 

Fortuna  plus  arriserat. 
Placide  senex,  levi  quiescas  cespite, 

Etsi  superbum  nee  vivo  tibi 
Decus  sit  inditum,  nee  mortuo 

Lapis  notatus  nomine ! 


VERSES  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  LLOYD. 

SPOKEN    AT    THE    WESTMINSTER   ELECTION    NEXT    AFTER    HIS 
DECEASE. 

Our  good  old  friend  is  gone ;  gone  to  his  rest, 

Whose  social  converse  was  itself  a  feast. 

O  ye  of  riper  years,  who  recollect 

How  once  ye  loved,  and  eyed  him  with  respect, 

Both  in  the  firnmess  of  his  better  day, 

While  yet  he  ruled  you  with  a  father's  sway, 

And  when,  impair'd  by  time,  and  glad  to  rest, 

Y'et  still  with  looks  in  mild  complacence  dreot. 

He  took  his  annual  seat,  and  mingled  here 

His  si)rightly  vein  with  yours — now  drop  a  tear ! 

In  morals  blameless,  as  in  manners  meek. 

He  knew  no  wish  that  he  might  blusii  to  speak; 

But,  happy  in  whatever  state  below. 

And  richer  than  the  rich  in  being  so, 

Obtain'd  the  hearts  of  all,  and  sucli  a  meed 

At  length  from  one^  as  made  him  rich  Indeed. 

Hence  then,  ye  titles,  hence,  not  wanted  here ! 

Go  I  garnish  merit  in  a  brighter  sphere — 

•  Ilo  was  nslier  and  under-master  cf  Westuiinster  near  fifty  years,  aiul 
fclirod  froin  his  occuiiation  v/lien  he  was  neai  seventy,  with  a  handsoino 
pension  fioiii  the  king 


LATIX    rOEMS    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  52'? 

The  brows  of  tliose,  wliose  more  exalted  lot 
lie  could  congratulate,  but  envied  not! 
Light  lie  the  turf,  good  senior,  on  thy  breast ; 
And  tranquil,  as  thy  mind  Avas,  be  thy  rest! 
Though,  living,  thou  hadst  more  desert  than  fame, 
And  not  a  stone  now  chronicles  thy  name! 


POPULETUM. 

PoPFLEyF.  cecidit  gratissima  copia  silvas, 
Conticuere  susurri,  omnisque  evanuit  umbra. 
Nullao  jam  levibus  se  miscent  frondibus  aurse, 
Et  nulla  in  lluvio  ramorum  ludit  imago. 

Hei  milii !  bis  senos  dum  luctu  torqueor  annos, 
His  cogor  silvis  suetoque  carere  recessu, 
Cum  sero  rediens,  stratasc^ue  in  gramine  cernens 
Insedi  arboribus,  sub  quels  errare  solebam. 

Ah  ubi  nunc  merulaa  cantus  ?     Felicior  ilium 
Silva  tegit,  durte  nondum  permissa  bipenni; 
Scilicet  exustos  colles  camposque  patentes 
Odit,  et  indignans  et  non  rediturus  abivit. 

Sed  qui  succisas  doleo  succidar  et  ipse, 
Et  priiis  huic  parilis,  quam  creverit  altera  silva, 
Flebor,  et,  exequiis  |)arvis  donatus,  habebo 
Defixum  lapidem  tumulique  cubantis  acervum. 

Tarn  subito  periisse  videns  tam  digna  manere 
Agnosco  humanas  sortes  et  tristia  fata — 
Sit  licet  ipse  brevis,  volucrique  siinillimus  umbrjc! 
Est  homini  brevior  citiusque  obitura  voluptas. 


THE  POPLAR  FIELD 

The  poplars  are  fell'd,  farewell  to  tije  shade, 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool  colonnade! 
The  wmds  ])lay  no  longer  and  sing  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  Ouse  on  his  bosom  their  image  receives. 

Twelve  years  had  elapsed  since  I  last  took  a  view 
Of  my  favorite  field,  and  the  bank  where  they  grew  ; 


528  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  now  in  tlie  grass  behold  tliey  are  laid, 

And  the  tree  is  my  seat  that  once  lent  nie  a  shade. 

Tlie  blackbird  has  fled  to  another  retreat, 
"Where  the  hazels  alibrd  him  a  screen  from  the  heat, 
And  the  scene  where  his  melody  charm'd  me  before 
Eesoimds  witli  his  sweet-flowing  ditty  no  more. 

My  fugitive  years  are  all  hasting  away, 

And  I  must  ere  long  lie  as  lowly  as  they, 

"With  a  turf  on  my  breast,  and  a  stone  at  my  bead, 

Ere  another  such  grove  shall  arise  in  its  stead. 

'Tis  a  sight  to  engage  me,  if  any  thing  can, 
To  muse  on  the  perishing  pleasures  of  man ; 
Though  his  life  be  a  dream,  his  enjoyments,  I  see, 
Have  a  being  less  durable  even  than  he.* 


LILIUM  ATQUE  ROSA. 

Heu  inimicitias  quoties  parit  aimula  forma, 
Quam  raro  pulchras  pulchra  placere  potest! 

Sed  fines  ultra  solitos  discordia  tendit. 
Cum  flores  ipsos  bills  et  ira  movent. 

Hortus  ubi  dulces  pr^ebet  tacitosque  recessus. 

Se  rapit  in  partes  gens  animosa  duas ; 
Hie  sibi  regales  Amaryllis  Candida  cultus, 

Illic  purpureo  vindicat  ore  Rosa. 

Ira  Rosam  et  meritis  qusesita  superbia  tangunt, 
Multaque  ferventi  vix  cohibenda  sinu, 

Dum  sibi  fautoruni  ciet  undique  nomina  vatum, 
Jusque  suum,  multo  carmine  fulta,  probat. 

Altior  emicat  ilia,  et  celso  vte^ce  nutat, 
Ceu  flores  inter  non  habiti^|0|larem, 

rastiditque  alios,  et  nata  videtur  in  usus 
Imperii,  sceptrum,  Flora  quod  ipsa  gerat. 

I  Cowper  afterwards  altered  this  last  stanza  in  the  following  manner: 
The  change  both  my  heart  aind  my  fancy  employs; 
I  reflect  on  the  frailty  of  man,  and  his  joys: 
Short-lived  as  we  are,  yet  our  pleasures,  we  see, 
Have  a  still  shorter  date,  and  die  sooner  than  we. 


LATIN    rOEM^    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  529 

iNec  Dca  non  sensit  civilis  mnrmura  rixa), 
Ciii  ciira3  est  pictas  i)an(lere  ruris  opes. 

Deliciasqiie  suas  niinquain  non  pronipta  tueri, 
Dum  licet  et  locus  est,  ut  tueatur,  adest. 

Et  tibi  fonna  datnr  procerior  omnibus,  inquit, 
Et  tibi,  principibus  qui  solet  esse,  color, 

Et  donee  vincat  qu89dani  formosior,  ambas, 
Et  tibi  regina3  nomen,  et  esto  tibi. 

His  ubi  sedatus  furor  est,  petit  utraque  nynipliain, 
Qualeni  inter  Veneres  Anglia  sola  parit ; 

llanc  penes  imi)eriuni  est,  nihil  optant  amplius,  hujus 
liegnant  in  nitidis,  et  sine  lite,  genis. 


THE  LILY  AXD  THE  ROSE. 

The  ISTyniph  must  lose  lier  female  friend, 

If  more  admired  than  she  ; 
But  where  will  tierce  contention  end, 

If  flowers  can  disagree  ? 

Within  the  garden's  peaceful  scene 

Appear'd  two  lov^ely  foes. 
Aspiring  to  the  rank  of  queen — 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose. 

The  Rose  soon  redden'd  into  rage, 

And,  swelling  with  disdain, 
Ap])eard  to  many  a  poet's  page 

To  prove  her  right  to  reign. 

The  Lily's  height  bespoke  command, 

A  fair  imperial  flower ; 
She  seem'd  dej^Ld  for  Flora's  hand, 

The  sceptre ^^Wer  power. 

This  civil  bickering  and  debate 
Tlie  goddess  chanced  to  hear, 

And  flew  to  save,  ere  yet  too  late, 
The  pride  of  the  parterre. 

Yours  is,  she  said,  the  nobler  hue, 
And  yours  the  statelier  mien  *, 
45 


530  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And,  till  a  third  surpasses  you, 
Let  each  be  deem'd  a  queen. 

Thus  soothed  and  reconciled,  each  seeks 

The  fairest  British  fair  ; 
The  seat  of  empire  is  her  cheeks, 

They  reign  united  there. 


IN  SUBMERSIONEM  NAVIGIT,  GUI  GEORGIUS 
REGALE  NOMEN  INDITUM. 

Plangimus  fortes.     Periere  fortes, 
Patriuni  propter  periere  littus 
Bis  quater  centum  ;  subito  sub  alto 
iEquore  mersi. 

!N"avis,  innitens  lateri,  jacebat. 
Mains  ad  summas  trepidabat  undas. 
Cum  levis,  funes  quatiens,  ad  imum 
Depulit  aura. 

Plangimus  fortes.     Nimis,  heu,  caducam 
Fortibus  vitam  voluere  parca3, 
I^ec  sinunt  ultra  tibi  nos  recentes 
Nectere  laurus, 

Magne,  qui  nomen,  licet  incanorum, 
Traditum  ex  multis  atavis  tullsti ! 
At  tuos  olim  memorabit  sevum 
Omne  triumphos. 

'Nou.  hyems  illos  furibunda  mersit, 
Non  mari  in  clauso  scopuli  latentes,  ^ 

Pissa  non  rimis  abies,  nee  atrox 
Abstulit  ensis. 

Navitas  sed  tum  nimium  jocosi 
Voce  fallebant  hilari  laborem, 
Et'quiescebat,  calamoque  dextram  im- 
pleverat  heros. 

Vos,  quibus  cordi  est  grave  opus  piumque, 
Humidum  ex  alto  spolium  levate, 
Et  putrescentes  sub  aquis  amicos 
Reddite  amicis ! 


LATIN    POEMS    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  581 

Hi  qnideiii  (sic  Dis  placuit)  fuere : 
Sed  ratis,  nonduin  piitris,  ire  possit 
Rursus  in  Lelluin,  Britoniiinque  nomen 
Tollere  ad  astra. 


ON  THE  LOSS  OF  THE  ROYAL  GEORGE. 

WRITTEN  AVIIEN  TUE  NEWS  ARRIVED. 
To  the  March  in  Scipio. 

Toll  for  tlie  brave, 

Tlie  brave  tliat  are  no  more  ! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 

Fast  by  their  native  shore ! 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave, 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried, 

Had  made  the  vessel  heel, 

And  laid  her  on  her  side.  / 

A  land-breeze  shook  the  shrouds,  \/ 

And  she  w\as  overset ; 
Down  w^ent  the  Royal  George, 

AVith  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave  !  / 

Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone ; 

His  last  sea-fight  is  fought ; 
His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle ; 

No  tenipest  gave  the  shock  ; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak ; 

She  ran  upon  no  rock.  ■ 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath ; 

His  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down      / 

With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up, 

Once  dreaded  by  our  foes ! 

And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tear  that  England  owes. 


532  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound, 
And  she  may  float  again, 

Full  charged  with  England's  thunder, 
And  plough  the  distant  main. 

But  Kempenfelt  is  gone. 

His  victories  are  o'er ; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred 

Shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

Sept  17S2. 


YOTUM. 


O  MATTJTixi  rores,  aurseque  salubres, 
O  nemora,  et  IvQtsd  rivis  felicibus  herba3, 
Graminei  colles,  et  amoen83  in  vallibus  umbr89 ! 
Fata  modo  dederint  quas  olim  in  yure  paterno 
Delicias,  procul  arte,  procul  formidine  novi, 
Quam  vellem  ignotus,  quod  mens  niea  semper  avebat, 
Ante  larem  proprium  placidam  expectare  senectam. 
Tum  demilm,  exactis  non  infeliciter  annis, 
Sortiri  taciturn  lapidem,  aut  sub  cespite  condi ! 


^      EPITAPHIUM. 

Hic  etiam  jacet, 

Qui  totum  novennium  vixit, 

Puss. 

Siste  paulisper, 

Qui  praiteriturus  es, 

Et  tecum  sic  reputa — • 

Hunc  neque  canis  venaticus, 

Nee  plumbum  missile, 

Nee  laqueus, 

ISTec  imbres  nimii, 

Confecere : 

Tamen  mortuus  est — 

Et  moriar  ego. 

1  On  the  death  of  a  favorite  hare.    See  p.  492. 


LATIN    POEMS    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  533 


SIMILE  m  PARADISE  LOST. 

"So  when,  from  mountain  tops,  the  dusky  clouds 
Ascending,"  &c. 

QuALES  aerii  montis  de  vertice  nnbes 

Cum  snrgunt,  et  jam  Boreco  tumida  era  quieriint, 

Ooehim  liilares  abdit,  spissa  caligine,  vultus  : 

Turn,  si  jucundo  tandem  sol  prodeat  ore, 

Et  croceo  montes  et  pascna  liimine  tingat, 

Gaiident  omnia,  aves  mulcent  concentibus  agros 

Balatuque  ovium  colles  vallesque  resultant. 


TRANSLATION  OF  DRYDEN'S  EPIGRAM  ON  MILTON. 

Tres  tria,  sed  longe  distantia,  specula  vates 

Ostentant  tribus  e  gentibus  eximios. 
Gra3cia  sublimem,  cum  majestate  disertum 

Roma  tulit,  felix  Anglia  utrique  parem. 
Partubus  ex  binis  Natura  exbausta,  coacta  est, 

Tertius  ut  fieret,  consociare  duos. 
July,  17S0. 


TRANSLATION  OF  PRIOR'S  CHLOE  AND  EUPHELTA. 

Mercator,  vigiles  oculos  ut  fallere  possit, 
Nomine  sub  ticto  trans  mare  mittit  opes ; 

Lene  sonat  liquidumque  meis  Euphelia  chordis, 
Sed  solam  exoptant  te,  mea  vota,  Chloe. 

Ad  speculum  ornabat  nitidos  Euphelia  crines. 
Cum  dixit,  mea  lux,  lieus,  cane,  sume  lyram. 

Namque  lyram  juxta  positam  cum  carmine  vidit, 
Suave  quidem  carmen  dulcisonamque  lyram. 

Eila  lyr89  vocemque  paro,  suspiria  surgunt, 
Et  miscent  numeris  murmura  moesta  meis, 

Dumque  ture  memoro  laudes,  Euphelia,  formro, 
Tota  anima  interea  pendet  ab  ore  Chides. 

Subrubet  ilia  pudore,  et  contrahit  altera  frontem, 
Me  torquet  mea  mens  conscia,  psallo,  tremo ; 

Atque  Cupidinea  dixit  Dea  cincta  corona, 
Heu    fallendi  artem  quam  didicere  parum. 


,534  cowper's  poetical  works. 

TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  FABLES  OF  GAY. 

LEPUS   MULTIS    AMICUS. 

LusiTS  araicitia  est,  nni  nisi  dedita,  ceu  fit, 

Simplice  ni  Pxexus  foedere,  Insiis  amor. 
Incerto  genitore  puer,  non  sfepe  paternsa 

Tutameii  novit,  deliciasque  domiis  : 
Quique  sibi  fidos  fore  multos  sperat,  amicus 

Mirum  est  liuic  misero  si  ferat  iilliis  opem. 
Comis  erat,  mitisqiie,  et  nolle  et  velle  paratus 

Cum  quovis,  Gaii  more  modoque,  Lepus. 
Ille,  quot  in  sylvis  et  quot  spatiantur  in  agris 

Quadrupedes,  norat  conciliare  sibi ; 
Et  quisque  innocuo,  invitoque  lacessere  quenquam 

Labra  tenus  saltem  lidus  amicus  erat.  ■    , 

Ortum  sub  lucis  dum  pressa  cubilia  linquit, 

Rorantes  lierbas,  pabula  sueta,  petens, 
Yenatorum  audit  clangores  pone  sequentem, 

Fulmineumque  sonum  territus  erro  fugit. 
Corda  pavor  pulsat,  sursum  sedet,  erigit  aures, 

Respicit,  et  sentit  jam  prope  adesse  necem. 
Utque  canes  fallat  late  circumvagus,  illuc, 

Unde  abiit,  mira  calliditate  redit ; 
Viribus  at  fractis  tandem  se  projicit  ultro 

In  media  miserum  semianimemque  via. 
Yix  ibi  stratus,  equi  sonitum  pedis  audit,  et,  oli  spe 

Quam  IvQtk  adventu  cor  agitatur  equi ! 
Dorsum  (inquit)  milii,  cliare,  tuum  concede,  tuoque 

Auxilio  nares  fallere,  vimque  canum. 
Me  mens,  ut  nosti,  pes  prodit — fidus  amicus 

Fert  quodcunque,  lubens,  nee  grave  sentit,  onus. 
Belle,  miselle  lepuscule,  (ecpius  respondet)  amara 

Omnia  quaa  tibi  sunt,  sunt  et  amara  milii. 
Yerum  age — sume  animos — multi,  me  pone,  bonique 

Adveniunt,  quorum  sis  cito  salvus  ope. 
Proximus  armenti  dominus  bos  solicitatus 

Auxilium  his  verbis  se  dare  posse  negat : 
Quando  quadrupedum,  quot  vivunt,  nullus  amicum 

Me  nescire  potest  usque  fuisse  tibi, 
Libertate  tequus,  quam  cedit  amicus  amico, 

Utar,  et  absque  metu  ne  tibi  displiceam ; 


LATIN    POEMS    AND    TRANSLATIONS.  535 

Hinc  me  mandat  amor.     Jaxta  istum  messis  acervum 

Me  mea,  pra)  cunctis  chara,  juvenca  manet; 
Et  quis  non  iiltro  qiisecunque  negotia  linquit, 

Pareat  ut  dominaa  cum  vocat  ipsa  siia3  ? 
Nee  me  crudelem  dicas — discedo — sed  liircus, 

Ciijus  ope  effiigias  integer,  liircus  adest. 
Febrem  (ait  liircus)  habes.   Heu,  sicca  ut  lumina  languent ! 

Utque  caput,  collo  deiiciente,  jacet! 
Hirsutum  milii  tergum ;  et  forsan  Iteserit  ajgrum, 

Vellere  eris  melius  fultus,  ovisque  venit. 
Me  mihi  fecit  omis  natura,  ovis  inquit,  anlielans 

Sustineo  lanaa  pondera  tanta  mea? ; 
Me  nee  velocem  nee  fortem  jacto,  solentque 

^os  etiam  s^vi  dilacerare  canes. 
Ultimus  accedit  vitulus,  vitulumque  precatur, 

Ut  periturum  alias  ocyus  eripiat. 
Remne  ergo,  respondet  vitulus,  suscepero  tantam, 

I^on  depulsus  adhuc  ubere,  natus  heri  ? 
Te,  quem  maturi  canibus  validique  relinquunt, 

Incolumem  potero  reddere  parvus  ego  ? 
Prreterea  tollens  quem  illi  aversantur,  amicis 

Forte  parum  videar  consuluisse  meis. 
fgnoscas  oro.     Fidissima  dissociantur 

Corda,  et  tale  tibi  sat  liquet  esse  meura. 
Ecce  autem  ad  calces  canis  est !  te  quanta  perempto 

Tristitia  est  nobis  ingrnitura ! — Vale ! 

AVARUS   ET   PLUTUS. 

IcTA  fenestra  Euri  flatu  stridebat,  avarus 

Ex  somno  trepidus  surgit,  opumque  memor. 
Lata  silenter  humi  ponit  vestigia,  quemque 

Respicit  ad  sonitum,  respiciensque  tremit ; 
Augustissiina  quseque  foramina  lampade  visit, 

Ad  vectes,  obices,  fertque  refertque  manum. 
Dein  reserat  crebris  junctam  compagibus  arcam 

Exultansque  omnes  conspicit  intus  opes. 
Sed  tandem  furiis  ultricibus  actus  ob  artes 

Quels  sua  res  tenuis  creverat  in  cumulum. 
Contortis  manibus  nunc  stat,  nunc  pectora  pulsans 

Aurum  execratur,  perniciemque  vocat ; 
O  mihi,  ait,  misero  mens  quam  tranquilla  fuisset, 

Hoc  celasset  adhuc  si  modo  terra  malum  I 


536  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Nunc  autem  virtus  ipsa  est  venalis ;  et  aurum 

Quid  contra  vitii  tormina  sreva  valet? 
O  iniraicum  aurum  !     O  homini  infestissima  pestis; 

Cui  datur  illecebras  vincere  posse  tuas  ? 
Aurum  homines  suasjt  contemnere  quicquid  honestum  est, 

Et  proBter  nomen  nil  retinere  boni. 
Aurum  cuncta  mali  per  terras  semina  sparsit ; 

Aurum  nocturnis  furibus  arma  dedit. 
Bella  docet  fortes,  timidosque  ad  pessima  ducit, 

Foedifragas  artes,  multiplicesque  dolos, 
Nee  vitii  quicquam  est,  quod  non  inveneris  ortum 

Ex  inalesuada  auri  sacrilegaque  fame. 
Dixit,  et  ingemuit;  Plutusque  suum  sibi  numen 

Ante  oculos,  ira  fervidus,  ipse  stetit. 
Arcam  clausit  avarus,  et  ora  horrentia  rugis 

Ostendens;  tremulum  sic  Deus  increpuit. 
Questibus  his  raucis  inihi  cur,  stulte,  obstrepis  aures? 
•  Ista  tui  similis  tristia  quisque  canit. 
Oommaculavi  egone  humanum  genus,  improbe?    Culpa, 

Dum  rapis,  et  captas  omnia,  culpa  tua  est. 
Mene  execrandum  censes,  quia  tam  pretiosa 

Criminibus  Hunt  perniciosa  tuis  ? 
Virtutis  specie,  pulchro  ceu  pallio  amictus 

Quisque  catus  nebulo  sordida  facta  tegit. 
Atque  suis  manibus  commissa  potentia,  durum 

Et  dirum  subito  vergit  ad  imperium. 
Hinc,  nimium  dum  latro  aurum  detrudit  in  arcam. 

Idem  aurum  latet  in  pectore  pestis  edax. 
Nutrit  avaritiam  et  fastum,  suspendere  adunco 

Suadet  naso  inopes,  et  vitium  omne  docet. 
Auri  et  larga  probo  si  copia  contigit,  instar 

Roris  dilapsi  ex  sothere  cuncta  beat : 
Tum,  quasi  numen  inesset,  alit,  fovet,  educas  orbos, 

Et  viduas  lacrymis  ora  rigare  vetat. 
Quo  sua  crimina  jura  auro  derivet  avarus, 

Aurum  anima3  pretium  qui  cupit  atque  capit? 
Lege  pari  gladium  incuset  sicarius  atrox 

Cseso  homine,  et  ferrum  judicet  esse  reum. 

PAPILIO    ET    LIMAX. 

Qui  subito  ex  imis  rerum  in  fastigia  surgit, 
Nativas  sordes,  quicquid  agatur,  olet. 


TRANSLATIONS 

FROM  THE 

FRENCH  OF  MADAME  DE  LA  MOTHE  GUM. 


THE  NATIVITY. 

'Tis  folly  all! — let  me  no  more  be  told 

Of  Parian  porticoes,  and  roofs  of  gold  ; 

Delightful  views  of  Nature,  dress'd  by  Art, 

Enchant  no  longer  this  indifferent  heart; 

The  Lord  of  all  things,  in  his  humble  birth, 

Makes  mean  the  proud  magnificence  of  earth ; 

The  straw,  the  manger,  and  the  mouldering  wall 

Eclipse  its  lustre ;  and  I  scorn  it  all. 

Canals,  and  fountains,  and  delicious  vales, 

Green  slopes  and  plains,  whose  plenty  never  fails ; 

Deep-rooted  groves,  whose  heads  sublimely  rise, 

Earth-born,  and  yet  ambitious  of  the  skies, — 

The  abundant  foliage  of  whoso  gloomy  shades, 

Vainly  the  sun  in  all  its  power  invades, — 

Where  warbled  airs  of  sprightly  birds  resound. 

Whose  verdure  lives  while  Winter  scowls  around ; 

Rocks,  lofty  mountains,  caverns  dark  and  deep. 

And  torrents  raving  down  tlie  rugged  steep ; 

Smooth  downs,  whose  fragrant  herbs  the  spirits  cheer; 

Meads  crown'd  with  flowers ;  streams  musical  and  clear, 

Whose  silver  waters,  and  whose  murmurs,  join 

Their  artless  charms,  to  make  the  scene  divine; 

The  fruitful  vineyard,  and  the  furrow'd  plain. 

That  seems  a  rolling  sea  of  golden  grain ; — 

All,  all  have  lost  the  charms  they  once  possessed; 

An  ijifant  God  reigns  sovereign  in  my  breast ; 


538  cowper's  poetical  works. 

From  Bethlehem's  bosom  1  no  more  will  rove ; 
There  dwells  the  Saviour,  and  tliere  rests  my  love. 

Ye  mightier  rivers,  that,  Avith  sounding  force, 
Urge  down  the  valleys  your  impetuous  course ! 
"Winds,  clouds,  and  lightnings!  and,  ye  waves,  whose  heads, 
Curl'd  into  monstrous  forms,  the  seaman  dreads ! 
Horrid  abyss,  where  all  experience  fails, 
Spread  with  the  wreck  of  planks  and  shatter'd  sails ; 
On  whose  broad  back  grim  Death  triumphant  rides, 
AVhile  havoc  floats  on  all  thy  swelling  tides. 
Thy  shores  a  scene  of  ruin,  strew'd  around 
AVith  vessels  bulged,  and  bodies  of  the  drown'd! 

Ye  fish,  that  sport  beneath  the  boundless  waves. 
And  rest,  secure  from  man,  in  rocky  caves; 
Swift-darting  sharks,  and  whales  of  hideous  size. 
Whom  all  the  aquatic  world  with  terror  eyes ! 
Plad  I  but  faith  immovable  and  true, 
I  might  defy  the  fiercest  storm,  like  you : 
The  world,  a  more  disturb'd  and  boisterous  sea, 
"When  Jesus  shows  a  smile,  affrights  not  me; 
He  hides  me;  and  in  vain  the  billows  roar. 
Break  harmless  at  my  feet,  and  leave  the  shore. 

Thou  azure  vault,  where,  through  the  gloom  of  night. 
Thick  sown,  we  see  such  countless  worlds  of  light! 
Thou  Moon,  whose  car,  encompassing  the  skies, 
Kestores  lost  Nature  to  our  wondering  eyes ; 
Again  retiring,  when  the  brighter  Sun 
Begins  the  course  he  seems  in  haste  to  run ! 
Behold  him  where  he  shines !     His  rapid  rays. 
Themselves  unmeasured,  measure  all  our  days ; 
Notliing  impedes  the  race  he  would  pursue, 
Nothing  escapes  his  penetrating  view, 
A  thousand  lands  confess  his  quickening  heat, 
And  all  he  cheers  are  fruitful,  fair,  and  sweet. 

Far  from  enjoying  what  these  scenes  disclose, 
I  feel  the  thorn,  alas !  but  miss  the  rose  : 
Too  well  I  know  this  aching  heart  requires 
More  solid  good  to  fill  its  vast  desires  ; 
.  In  vain  they  represent  His  matchless  might. 
Who  call'd  them  out  of  deep  primeval  niglit ; 
Their  form  and  beauty  but  augment  my  woe  : 
I  seek  the  Giver  of  those  charms  they  show : 
Kor,  Him  beside,  throughout  the  world  He  made, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  539 

Lives  there  in  whom  I  trust  for  cure  or  aid. 

— Infinite  God,  tliou  great  imrivalPd  One  ! 

Wliose  glory  makes  a  blot  of  yonder  sun  ; 

Compared  with  thine,  how  dim  liis  beauty  seems, 

How  quench'd  the  radiance  of  his  golden  beams ! 

Thou  art  my  bliss,  the  light  by  which  I  move  ; 

In  Thee  alone  dwells  all  that  I  can  love. 

All  darkness  flies  when  Thou  art  pleased  to  appear, 

A  sudden  spring  renews  the  fading  year; 

Where'er  I  turn  I  see  thy  power  and  grace, 

The  watchful  guardians  of  our  heedless  race  : 

Thy  various  creatures  in  one  strain  agree, 

All,  in  all  times  and  places,  speak  of  Thee ; 

Even  I,  with  trembling  heart  and  stammering  tongue. 

Attempt  thy  praise,  and  join  the  general  song. 

Almighty  Former  of  this  wondrous  plan, 
Faintly  reflected  in  thine  image,  Man ! 
Holy  and  just — the  greatness  of  whose  name 
Fills  and  supports  this  universal  frame. 
Diffused  throughout  the  infinitude  of  space, 
Who  art  Thyself  thine  own  vast  dwelling-plaee ; 
Soul  of  our  soul,  whom  yet  no  sense  of  ours 
Discerns,  eluding  our  most  active  powers; 
Encircling  shades  attend  thine  awful  throne, 
That  veil  thy  fiice,  and  keep  thee  still  unknown ; 
Unknown,  though  dwelling  in  our  inmost  part. 
Lord  of  the  thoughts,  and  Sovereign  of  the  heart ! 

Repeat  the  charming  truth  that  never  tires, 
ISTo  God  is  like  the  God  my  soul  desires  ; 
He  at  whose  voice  heaven  trembles,  even  He, 
Great  as  he  is,  knows  how  to  stoop  to  me — 
Lo !  there  he  lies  :  that  smiling  infant  said, 
^'Heaven,  earth,  and  sea,  exist!" — and  they  obey'd. 
Even  He,  whose  being  swells  beyond  the  skies. 
Is  born  of  woman,  lives,  and  mourns,  and  dies; 
Eternal  and  immortal,  seems  to  cast 
That  glory  from  his  brows,  and  breathes  his  last. 
Trivial  and  vain  the  Avorks  that  man  has  wrought, 
How  do  they  shrink  and  vanisli  at  the  thought ! 

Sweet  solitude,  and  scene  of  my  repose  ! 
This  rustic  sight  assuages  all  my  woes — 
That  crib  contains  the  Lord,  whom  I  adore ; 
And  earth's  a  shade  that  I  pursue  no  more. 


o40  cowper's  poetical  works. 

He  is  my  firm  support,  my  rock,  my  tower ; 
I  dwell  secure  beneath  his  sheltering  power, 
And  hold  this  mean  retreat  forever  dear, 
For  all  I  love,  my  soul's  delight,  is  here. 
I  see  the  Almighty  swathed  in  infant  bands. 
Tied  helpless  down  the  thunder-bearer's  hands ! 
And,  in  this  shed,  that  mystery  discern, 
Which  Faith  and  Love,  and  they  alone,  can  learn. 

Ye  tempests,  spare  the  slumbers  of  your  Lord ; 
Ye  ze^^hyrs,  all  your  whisper'd  sweets  afford  ! 
Confess  the  God  that  guides  the  rolling  year ; 
Heaven,  do  him  homage  ;  and  thou,  Earth,  revere! 
Ye  shepherds,  monarchs,  sages,  hither  bring 
Your  hearts,  an  offering,  and  adore  your  King ! 
Pure  be  those  hearts,  and  rich  in  faith  and  love ; 
Join,  in  his  praise,  the  harmonious  world  above ; 
To  Bethlehem  haste,  rejoice  in  his  repose, 
And  praise  him  there  for  all  that  he  bestows  ! 

Man,  busy  Man,  alas !  can  ill  afford 
To  obey  the  summons,  and  attend  the  Lord ; 
Perverted  Keason  revels  and  runs  wild, 
By  glittering  shows  of  pomp  and  wealth  beguiled ; 
And,  blind  to  genuine  excellence  and  grace. 
Finds  not  her  author  in  so  mean  a  i)lace. 
Ye  unbelieving  !  learn  a  wiser  part. 
Distrust  your  erring  sense,  and  search  your  heart ; 
There  soon  ye  shall  perceive  a  kindling  flame 
Glow  for  that  infant  God,  from  whom  it  came ; 
Eesist  not,  quench  not,  that  divine  desire, 
Melt  all  your  adamant  in  heavenly  fire ! 

Kot  so  will  I  requite  thee,  gentle  Love ! 
Yielding  and  soft  this  heart  shall  ever  prove  ; 
And  every  heart  beneath  thy  power  should  fall, 
Glad  to  submit,  could  mine  contain  them  all. 
But  I  am  poor,  oblation  I  have  none, 
None  for  a  Saviour,  but  Himself  alone  : 
"Whate'er  I  render  thee,  from  thee  it  came  : 
And,  if  I  give  my  body  to  the  flame — 
My  patience,  love,  and  energy  divine 
Of  heart,  and  soul,  and  spirit,  all  are  thine. 
Ah,  vain  attempt  to  expunge  the  mighty  score! 
The  more  I  pay,  I  owe  thee  still  the  more. 

Upon  my  meanness,  poverty,  and  guilt. 


[ 


TRANSLA^TIONS    FROM    GUION.  541 


The  trophy  of  thy  glory  shall  be  built ; 
My  self-disdain  shall  be  the  iinsliaken  base, 
And  my  deformity  its  fairest  grace ; 
For  destitute  of  good,  and  rich  in  ill. 
Must  be  my  state  and  my  description  still. 

And  do  1  grieve  at  such  an  humbling  lot? 
Nay,  but  I  cherish  and  enjoy  the  thought — 
Vain  pageantry  and  pomp  of  earth,  adieu! 
I  have  no  wish,  no  memory  for  you ; 
The.  more  I  feel  my  misery,  I  adore 
The  sacred  Inmate  of  my  soul  the  more ; 
Rich  in  his  love,  I  feel  my  noblest  pride 
Spring  from  the  sense  of  having  naught  beside. 

In  Thee  I  find  wealth,  comfort,  virtue,  might ; 
My  wanderings  prove  Thy  wisdom  infinite; 
All  that  I  have  I  give  thee;  and  then  see 
All  contrarieties  unite  in  thee; 
For  Thou  hast  joinVl  them,  taking  up  our  woe, 
And  pouring  out  thy  bliss  on  worms  below, 
By  filHng  with  thy  grace  and  love  divine 
A  gulf  of  evil  in  tliis  heart  of  mine. 
This  is,  indeed,  to  bid  the  valleys  rise. 
And  the  hills  sink — 'tis  matching  Earth  and  Skies ! 
I  feel  my  w^eakness,  thank  thee,  and  deplore 
An  aching  heart,  that  throbs  to  thank  thee  more 
The  more  I  love  thee,  I  the  more  reprove 
A  soul  so  lifeless,  and  so  slow  to  love ; 
Till,  on  a  deluge  of  thy  mercy  toss'd, 
I  plunge  into  that  sea,  and  there  am  lost. 


GOD   NEITHER  KNOWN   NOR  LOVED  BY  THE 
WORLD. 

Ye  Linnets,  let  us  try,  beneath  this  grove. 

Which  shall  be  loudest  in  our  Maker's  praise! 

In  quest  of  some  forlorn  retreat  I  rove. 

For  all  the  world  is  blind,  and  wanders  from  his  ways. 

That  God  alone  should  prop  the  sinking  soul, 
Fills  them  with  rage  against  his  empire  now: 
I  traverse  earth  in  vain  from  pOle  to  pole. 
To  seek  one  simple  heart,  set  free  from  all  below. 
46 


542  cowper's  poetical  works. 

They  speak  of  love,  yet  little  feel  its  sway, 
While  in  their  bosoms  many  an  idol  lurks ; 
Their  base  desires,  well  satisfied,  obey. 
Leave  the  Creator's  hand,  and  lean  upon  his  works. 

'Tis  therefore  I  can  dwell  with  man  no  more ; 
Your  fellowship,  ye  warblers !  suits  me  best : 
Pure  love  has  lost  its  price,  though  prized  of  yore, 
Profaned  by  modern  tongues,  and  slighted  as  a  jest. 

My  God,  who  form'd  you  for  his  praise  alone, 
Beholds  his  purpose  well  fulfill'd  in  you ; 
Come,  let  us  join  the  choir  before  his  throne. 
Partaking  in  his  praise  with  spirits  just  and  true! 

Yes,  I  will  always  love ;  and,  as  I  ought. 
Tune  to  the  praise  of  Love  my  ceaseless  voice ; 
Preferring  love  too  vast  for  human  thought. 
In  spite  of  erring  men,  who  cavil  at  my  choice. 

Why  have  I  not  a  thousand  thousand  hearts, 
Lord  of  my  soul !  that  they  might  all  be  thine  ? 
If  thou  approve — the  zeal  thy  smile  imparts. 
How  should  it  ever  fail !  can  such  a  fire  decline  ? 

Love,  pure  and  hol}^,  is  a  deathless  fire ; 

Its  object  heavenly,  it  must  ever  blaze: 

Eternal  love  a  God  must  needs  inspire. 

When  once  he  wins  the  heart,  and  fits  it  for  his  praise. 

Self-love  dismissed — 'tis  then  we  live  indeed — 

In  her  embrace,  death,  only  death  is  found : 

Come,  then,  one  noble  efiTort,  and  succeed. 

Oast  off  the  chain  of  self  with  which  thy  soul  is  bound ! 

Oh !  I  could  cry,  that  all  the  world  might  hear. 

Ye  self-tormentors,  love  your  God  alone ; 

Let  his  unequall'd  excellence  be  dear. 

Dear  to  your  inmost  souls,  and  make  him  all  your  own  I 

They  hear  me  not — alas !  how  fond  to  rove 

In  endless  chase  of  folly's  specious  lure ! 

'Tis  here  alone,  beneath  this  shady  grove, 

I  taste  the  sweets  of  truth — here  only  am  secure. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  543 


THE  SWALLOW. 

I  AM  fond  of  the  Swallow — I  learn  from  her  flight, 
Had  I  skill  to  improve  it,  a  lesson  of  love : 
How  seldom  on  earth  do  we  see  her  alight ! 
She  dwells  in  the  skies,  she  is  ever  above. 

It  is  on  the  wing  that  she  takes  her  repose, 
Suspended  and  poised  in  the  regions  of  air; 
'Tis  not  in  our  fields  that  her  sustenance  grows. 
It  is  wing'd  like  herself — 'tis  ethereal  fare. 

She  comes  in  the  spring,  all  the  summer  she  stays, 
And,  dreading  the  cold,  still  follows  the  sun : 
So,  true  to  our  Love,  we  should  covet  his  rays, 
And  the  place  Avhere  he  shines  not,  immediately  shun. 

Our  light  should  be  Love,  and  our  nourishment  prayer ; 
It  is  dangerous  food  that  we  find  upon  earth  ; 
The  fruit  of  this  world  is  beset  with  a  snare  ; 
In  itself  it  is  hurtful,  as  vile  in  its  birth. 

'Tis  rarely,  if  ever,  she  settles  below. 
And  only  when  buildmg  a  nest  for  her  young ; 
Were  it  not  for  her  brood,  she  would  never  bestow 
A  thought  upon  any  thing  filthy  as  dung. 

Let  us  leave  it  ourselves  ('tis  a  mortal  abode). 
To  bask  every  moment  in  infinite  Love ; 
Let, us  fiy  the  dark  winter,  and  follow  the  road 
That  leads  to  the  dayspring  appearing  above. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HEAVENLY  LOVE  DESIRED. 

An !  reign  wherever  man  is  found, 
My  Spouse,  beloved  and  divine! 

Then  I  am  rich,  and  I  abound. 
When  every  human  heart  is  thine. 

A  thousand  sorrows  pierce  my  sonl, 
To  think  that  all  are  not  thine  own: 

Ah !  be  adored  from  pole  to  pole ; 
Where  is  thy  zeal ?  arise;  be  known! 


544  COWPER^S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

All  hearts  are  cold,  in  every  place, 

Yet  eartlily  good  witli  warmth  pursue : 

Dissolve  them  with  a  flash  of  grace, 
Thaw  these  of  ice,  and  give  us  new ! 


A  FIGUKATIVE  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  PROCEDURE  OF 
DIVINE  LOVE 

IN    BRINGING   A   SOUL  TO  THE   POINT  OF   SELF-RENUNCIATION 
AND   ABSOLUTE    ACQUIESCENCE. 

'TwAS  my  purpose,  on  a  day, 

To  embark,  and  sail  away. 

As  I  climbed  the  vessel's  side. 

Love  was  sporting  in  the  tide ; 

'^Oome,"  he  said, — ''ascend — make  haste, 

Launch  into  the  boundless  waste." 

Many  mariners  were  there. 
Having  each  his  separate  care ; 
They  that  row'd  us  held  their  eyes 
Fix'd  upon  the  starry  skies ; 
Others  steer 'd,  or  turn'd  the  sails, 
To  receive  the  shifting  gales. 

Love,  with  power  divine  supplied, 
Suddenly  my  courage  tried ; 
In  a  moment  it  was  night, 
Ship  and  skies  were  out  of  sight ; 
On  the  briny  wave  I  lay. 
Floating  rushes  all  my  stay. 

Did  I  with  resentment  burn. 
At  this  unexpected  turn  ? 
Did  I  wish  myself  on  shore. 
Never  to  forsake  it  more? 
No— ''My  soul,"  I  cried,  "be  still; 
If  I  must  be  lost,  I  will." 

Next  he  hastened  to  convey 
Both  my  frail  supports  away ; 
Seized  my  rushes ;  bade  the  waves 
Yawn  into  a  thousand  graves: 
Down  I  went,  and  sunk  as  lead, 
Ocean  closing  o'er  my  head. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUIOX.  545 

Still,  however,  life  was  safe ; 
And  I  saw  him  turn  and  laugh : 
"Friend,"  he  cried,  "adieu!  lie  low, 
"While  the  wintry  storms  sliall  blow; 
AVhen  the  spring  has  calm'd  the  main, 
You  shall  rise  and  float  again." 

Soon  I  saw  him,  with  dismay, 
Spread  his  plumes,  and  soar  away ; 
Now  I  mark  his  rapid  flight ; 
Now  he  leaves  my  aching  sight ; 
He  is  gone  Avhom  I  adore, 
'Tis  in  vain  to  seek  him  more. 

How  I  trembled  then  and  fear''(], 
"When  my  Love  had  disappeared ! 
"  Wilt  thou  leave  me  thus,"  I  cried, 
"  Whelm'd  beneath  the  rohing  tide?" 
Vain  attempt  to  reach  his  ear ! 
Love  was  gone,  and  would  not  hear. 

Ah !  return,  and  love  me  still ; 

See  me  subject  to  thy  will; 

Frown  with  wrath,  or  smile  with  grace — 

Only  let  me  see  thy  face ! 

Evil  I  hav<^  none  to  fear, 

All  is  good,  if  Thou  art  near. 

Yet  he  leaves  me — cruel  fate ! 
Leaves  me  in  my  lost  estate : 
Have  I  sinn'd  ?     Oh,  say  wherein; 
Tell  me,  and  forgive  my  sin ! 
King,  and  Lord,  wdiom  I  adore. 
Shall  I  see  thy  face  no  more  ? 

Be  not  angry ;  I  resign. 

Henceforth,  all  my  will  to  thine : 

I  consent  that  thou  depart. 

Though  thine  absence  breaks  my  heart ; 

Go  then,  and  forever  too  : 

All  is  right  that  thou  wilt  do. 

This  was  just  what  love  intended ; 
He  was  now  no  more  offended ; 


oiQ  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Soon  as  I  became  a  child, 
Love  return'd  to  me  and  smiled : 
Never  strife  shall  more  betide 
'Twixt  the  Bridegroom  and  the  Bride. 


A  CHILD  OF  GOD  LONGING  TO  SEE  HIM  BELOVED. 

There's  not  an  echo  round  me, 

But  I  am  glad  should  learn, 
How  pure  a  lire  has  found  me, 

The  love  with  which  I  burn. 
For  none  attends  with  pleasure 

To  what  I  would  reveal ; 
They  slight  me  out  of  measure, 

And  laugh  at  all  I  feel. 

The  rocks  receive  less  proudly 

The  story  of  my  flame ; 
When  I  approach,  they  loudly 

Eeverberate  his  name. 
I  speak  to  them  of  sadness. 

And  comforts  at  a  stand ; 
They  bid  me  look  for  gladness, 

And  better  days  at  hand. 

Far  from  all  habitation, 

I  heard  a  happy  sound ; 
Big  with  the  consolation, 

That  I  have  often  found : 
I  said,  "  My  lot  is  sorrow, 

My  grief  has  no  alloy  ;" 
The  rocks  replied — "  To-morrow, 

To-morrow  brings  thee  joy." 

These  sweet  and  sacred  tidings, 

What  bliss  it  is  to  hear ! 
For,  spite  of  all  my  chidings, 

My  weakness  and  my  fear — 
No  sooner  I  receive  them, 

Than  I  forget  my  pain. 
And,  happy  to  believe  them, 

i  love  as  much  again. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  547 

I  fly  to  scenes  romantic, 

Where  never  men  resort ; 
For  in  an  age  so  frantic 

Impiety  is  sport ; 
For  riot  and  confusion 

They  barter  things  above; 
Condemning,  as  delusion, 

The  joy  of  perfect  love. 

In  this  sequester'd  corner. 

None  hears  what  I  express : 
Delivered  from  the  scorner. 

What  peace  do  I  possess  ! 
Beneath  the  boughs  reclining, 

Or  roving  o'er  the  wild, 
I  live  as  undesigning 

And  harmless  as  a  child. 

No  troubles  here  surprise  me, 

I  innocently  play, 
While  Providence  supplies  me, 

And  guards  me  all  the  day : 
My  dear  and  kind  Defender 

Preserves  me  safely  here, 
From  men  of  pomp  and  splendor, 

Who  fill  a  child  with  fear. 


ASPIRATIONS  OF  THE  SOUL  AFTER  GOD. 

My  Spouse  !  in  whose  presence  I  live, 

Sole  object  of  all  my  desires, 
Who  know'st  what  a  flame  I  conceive* 

And  canst  easily  double  its  fires ; 
How  pleasant  is  all  that  I  meet! 

From  fear  of  adversity  free ; 
Ifind  even  sorrow  made  sweet, 

Because  'tis  assigned  me  by  thee. 

Transported  I  see  thee  display 
Thy  riches  and  glory  divine ; 

I  have  only  my  life  to  repay. 

Take  what  I  would  gladly  resign. 


548  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Thy  will  is  the  treasure  I  seek, 
For  thou  art  as  faithful  as  strong ; 

There  let  me,  obedient  and  meek, 
Kepose  myself  all  the  day  long. 

My  spirit  and  faculties  fail ; 

Oh,  finish  what  Love  has  begun ! 
Destroy  what  is  sinful  and  frail. 

And  dwell  in  the  soul  thou  hast  won! 
Dear  theme  of  my  wonder  and  praise, 

I  cry,  who  is  worthy  as  thou? 
I  can  only  be  silent  and  gaze ; 

'Tis  all  that  is  left  to  me  now. 

Oh,  glory  in  which  I  am  lost. 

Too  deep  for  the  plummet  of  thought! 
On  an  ocean  of  Deity  toss'd, 

I  am  swallow'd,  I  sink  into  naught. 
Yet,  lost  and  absorbed  as  I  seem, 

I  chant  to  the  praise  of  my  King ; 
And,  though  overwhelm'd  by  the  theme, 

Am  happy  whenever  I  sing. 


GRATITUDE  AND  LOVE  TO  GOD. 

All  are  indebted  much  to  Thee, 

But  I  far  more  than  all. 
From  many  a  deadly  snare  set  free, 

And  raised  from  many  a  fall. 
Overwhelm  me,  from  above, 
Daily,  with  thy  boundless  love ! 

What  bonds  of  gratitude  I  feel 

No  language  can  declare ; 
Beneath  the  oppressive  w^eight  I  reel, 

'Tis  more  than  I  can  bear ; 
"When  shall  I  that  blessing  prove, 
To  return  thee  Love  for  Love  ? 

Spirit  of  Charity,  dispense 
Thy  grace  to  every  heart ; 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  549 

Expel  all  other  spirits  thence, 
Drive  s6lf  from  every  part; 
Charity  divine,  draw  nigh, 
Break  the  chains  in  which  we  lie! 

All  selfish  souls,  whatever  they  feign, 

Have  still  a  slavish  lot ; 
They  boast  of  liberty  in  vain — 

Of  Love,  and  feel  it  not. 
He  whose  bosom  glows  with  thee, 
He,  and  he  alone,  is  free. 

O  blessedness,  all  bliss  above, 

When  thy  pure  fires  prevail ! 
Love  only  teaches  what  is  Love : 

All  other  lessons  fail : 
"We  learn  its  name,  but  not  its  powers, 
Experience  only  makes  it  ours. 


HAPPY  SOLITUDE— UNHAPPY  MEN. 

My  heart  is  easy,  and  my  burden  light ; 

I  smile,  though  sad,  when  thou  art  in  my  sight : 

The  more  my  woes  in  secret  I  deplore, 

I  taste  thy  goodness,  and  I  love  the  more. 

There,  while  a  solemn  stillness  reigns  around, 
Faith,  Love,  and  Hope  within  my  soul  abound ; 
And,  while  the  world  suppose  me  lost  in  care, 
The  joys  of  angels,  unperceived,  I  share. 

Thy  creatures  wrong  thee,  O  thou  sovereign  Good; 
Thou  art  not  loved,  because  not  understood ; 
This  grieves  me  most,  that  vain  pursuits  beguile  * 
Ungrateful  men,  regardless  of  thy  smile. 

Frail  Beauty  and  fiilse  Honor  are  adored, 
"While  thee  they  scorn,  and  trifle  with  thy  Word ; 
Pass,  unconcerned,  a  Saviour's  sorrows  by, 
And  hunt  their  ruin  with  a  zeal  to  die. 


550  cowper's  poetical  works. 


LIVING  WATER. 

The  fountain  in  its  source 
No  drought  of  summer  fears ; 

The  farther  it  pursues  its  course, 
The  nobler  it  appears. 

But  shallow  cisterns  yield 

A  scanty  short  supply ; 
The  morning  sees  them  amply  fiird ; 

At  evening  they  are  dry. 


TRUTH  AND  DIVINE  LOVE  REJECTED  BY  THE 
WORLD. 

O  LoYE,  of  pure  and  heavenly  birth ! 
O  simple  Truth,  scarce  known  on  earth ! 
Whom  men  resist  with  stubborn  will ; 
And,  more  perverse  and  daring  still. 
Smother  and  quench,  with  reasonings  vain, 
W^hile  Error  and  Deception  reign. 

Whence  comes  it,  that,  your  power  the  §amo 
As  His  on  high,  from  whence  you  came. 
Ye  rarely  find  a  listening  ear. 
Or  heart  that  makes  you  welcome  here  ? — 
Because  ye  bring  reproach  and  pain. 
Where'er  ye  visit,  in  your  train. 

The  world  is  proud,  and  cannot  bear 
The  scorn  and  calumny  ye  share ; 
The  praise  of  men  the  mark  they  mean, 
They  fly  the  place  where  ye  are  seen; 
Pure  Love,  with  Scandal  in  tlie  rear. 
Suits  not  the  vain ;  it  costs  too  dear. 

Then,  let  the  price  be  what  it  may — 
Though  poor,  I  am  prepared  to  pay ; 
Come  shame,  come  sorrow ;  spite  of  tears, 
Weakness,  and  heart-oppressing  fears ; 
One  soul,  at  least,  shall  not  repine. 
To  give  you  room :  come,  reign  in  mine ! 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUIOX.  551 


DIVINE  JUSTICE  AMIABLE. 

Tiiou  hast  no  lightnings,  O  thou  Just  I 
Or  I  their  force  should  know ; 

And,  if  thou  strike  me  into  dust, 
My  soul  approves  the  blow. 

The  heart,  that  values  less  its  ease 

Than  it  adores  thy  ways. 
In  thine  avenging  anger  sees 

A  subject  of  its  praise. 

Pleased  I  could  lie,  conceal'd  and  lost, 

In  shades  of  central  night ; 
l^ot  to  avoid  thy  wrath,  thou  know'st, 

But  lest  I  grieve  thy  sight. 

Smite  me,  0  Thou,  whom  I  provoke ! 

And  I  will  love  thee  still : 
The  well-deserved  and  righteous  stroke 

Shall  please  me,  though  it  kill. 

Am  I  not  worthy  to  sustain 
The  worst  Thou  canst  devise ; 

And  dare  I  seek  thy  throne  again, 
And  meet  thy  sacred  eyes  ? 

Far  from  afflicting,  Thou  art  kind; 

And,  in  my  saddest  hours, 
An  unction  of  thy  grace  I  find. 

Pervading  all  my  powers. 

Alas!  thou  sparest  me  yet  again; 

And,  when  thy  wratli  should  move, 
Too  gentle  to  endure  my  pain, 

Thou  soothest  me  with  thy  love. 

I  have  no  punishment  to  fear ; 

But,  ah !  that  smile  from  thee 
Imparts  a  pang  far  more  severe 

Than  woe  itself  would  be. 


552  cowper's  poetical  works. 


THE  SOUL  THAT  LOYES  GOD  FINDS  HIM" 
EVERYWHERE. 

0  Tiiou,  by  long  experience  tried, 
Kear  wliom  no  grief  can  long  abide ; 
My  Love !  how  full  of  sweet  content 

1  pass  my  years  of  banishment ! 

All  scenes  alike  engaging  prove 
To  souls  impress'd  with  sacred  Love ! 
"Where'er  they  dwell,  they  dwell  in  Thee  I 
In  heaven,  in  earth,  or  on  the  sea. 

To  me  remains  nor  place  nor  time ; 
My  country  is  in  every  clime ; 
I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore,  since  God  is  there. 

While  place  we  seek,  or  place  we  shun, 
The  soul  finds  happiness  in  none ; 
But,  with  a  God  to  guide  our  way, 
'Tis  equal  joy  to  go  or  stay. 

Could  I  be  cast  where  Thou  art  not, 
That  were  indeed  a  dreadful  lot ; 
But  regions  none  remote  I  call. 
Secure  of  finding  God  in  all. 

My  country.  Lord,  art  Thou  alone ; 
Nor  other  can  I  claim  or  own; 
The  point  where  all  my  wishes  meet; 
My  law,  my  love,  life's  only  sweet ! 

I  hold  by  nothing  here  below ; 

Appoint  my  journey,  and  I  go; 

Though  pierced  by  scorn,  oppress'd  by  pride, 

I  feel  Thee  good — feel  naught  beside. 

N'o  frowns  of  men  can  hurtful  prove 
To  souls  on  fire  with  heavenly  Love ; 
Though  men  and  devils  both  condemn, 
'    No  gloomy  days  arise  from  them. 

Ah,  then !  to  His  embrace  repair ; 
My  soul,  thou  art  no  stranger  there ; 
There  Love  divine  shall  be  thy  guard, 
And  peace  and  safety  thy  reward. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  553 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF  DIVINE  ADOPTION. 

How  happy  are  the  new-born  race, 
Partakers  of  adopting  grace ! 

How  pure  the  bliss  they  share ! 
Hid  from  the  world  and  all  its  eyes, 
Within  their  heart  the  blessing  lies, 

And  conscience  feels  it  there. 

The  moment  we  believe,  'tis  ours ; 
And  if  we  love  with  all  our  powers 

The  God  from  whom  it  came; 
And  if  we  serve  with  hearts  sincere, 
'Tis  still  discernible  and  clear, 

An  undisputed  claim. 

But,  ah !  if  foul  and  wilful  sin 
Stain  and  dishonor  us  within. 

Farewell  the  joy  we  knew; 
Again  the  slaves  of  Nature's  sway, 
In  labyrinths  of  our  own  we  stray, 

Without  a  guide  or  clue. 

The  chaste  and  pure,  wko  fear  to  grieve 
The  gracious  Spirit  the}'  receive, 

His  work  distinctly  trace ; 
And,  strong  in  undissembling  love. 
Boldly  assert  and  clearly  prove 

Their  hearts  his  dwelling-place. 

Oh,  messenger  of  dear  delight, 
AVhose  voice  dispels  the  deepest  night, 

Sweet  peace-proclaiming  Dove ! 
"With  thee  at  hand,  to  soothe  our  pains, 
No  wish  unsatisfied  remains. 

No  task  but  that  of  Love. 

'Tis  Love  unites  what  Sin  divides; 
The  centre,  where  all  bliss  resides ; 

To  which  the  soul  once  brought. 
Reclining  on  the  first  great  Cause, 
From  his  abounding  sweetness  draws 

Peace  passinc^  human  thought. 
47 


554  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Sorrow  foregoes  its  nature  there, 
And  life  assumes  a  tranquil  air, 

Divested  of  its  woes ; 
There  sovereign  goodness  soothes  the  breast, 
Till  then  incapable  of  rest, 

In  sacred  sure  repose. 


DIVINE  LOVE  ENDUEES  NO  RIVAL. 

Love  is  the  Lord  whom  I  obey, 
"Whose  will  transported  I  perform ; 
The  centre  of  my  rest,  my  stay : 
Love's  all  in  all  to  me,  myself  a  worm. 

For  uncreated  charms  I  burn,.  * 

Oppressed  by  slavish  fear  no  more. 

For  One  in  whom  I  may  discern, 

Even  when  he  frowns,  a  sweetness  I  adore. 

He  little  loves  him  who  complains, 
And  finds  him  rigorous  and  severe ; 
His  heart  is  sordid,  and  he  feigns, 
Though  loud  in  boasting  of  a  soul  sincere. 

Love  causes  grief,  but  'tis  to  move 
And  stinmlate  the  slumbering  mind; 
And  he  has  never  tasted  love. 
Who  shuns  a  pang  so  graciously  design'd. 

Sweet  is  the  cross,  above  all  sweets. 
To  souls  enamor'd  with  thy  smiles ; 
The  keenest  woe  life  ever  meets, 
Love  strips  of  all  its  terrors,  and  beguiles. 

'Tis  just  that  God  should  not  be  dear 
"Where  self  engrosses  all  the  thought. 
And  groans  and  murmurs  make  it  clear, 
"Whatever  else  is  loved,  the  Lord  is  not. 

The  love  of  Tliee  flows  just  as  much 
As  that  of  ebbing  self  subsides ; 
Our  hearts,  tlieir  scantiness  is  such, 
Bear  not  the  conflict  of  two  rival  tides. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  655 

Both  cannot  govern  in  one  soul ; 

Then  let  self-love  be  dispossessed ; 

The  love  of  God  deserves  the  whole, 

And  will  not  dwell  with  so  despised  a  guest. 


SELF-DIFFIDENCE. 

Source  of  love,  and  light  of  day, 
Tear  me  from  myself  away ; 
Every  view  and  thought  of  mine 
Cast  into  the  mould  of  thine ; 
Teach,  oh  teach  this  faithless  heart 
A  consistent,  constant  part ; 
Or,  if  it  must  live  to  grow 
More  rebellious,  break  it  now ! 

Is  it  thus  that  I  requite 
Grace  and  goodness  infinite? 
Every  trace  of  every  boon 
Cancell'd  and  erased  so  soon ! 
Can  I  grieve  thee,  whom  I  love ; 
Thee,  in  w^hom  I  live  and  move? 
If  my  sorrow  touch  thee  still, 
Save  me  from  so  great  an  ill ! 

Oh !  the  oppressive,  irksome  weight, 
Felt  in  an  uncertain  state ; 
Comfort,  peace,  and  rest,  adieu, 
Should  I  prove  at  last  untrue ! 
Still  I  choose  thee,  follow  still 
Every  notice  of  thy  will! 
But,  unstable,  strangely  weak, 
Still  let  slip  the  good  I  seek. 

Self-confiding  wretch,  I  thought 
I  could  serve  thee  as  I  ought — 
Win  thee,  and  deserve  to  feel 
All  the  love  thou  canst  reveal ! 
Trusting  self,  a  bruised  reed. 
Is  to  be  deceived  indeed: 
Save  me  from  this  harm  and  loss, 
Lest  my  gold  turn  all  to  dross ! 


55Q  CO\YPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Self  is  earthly— Fai til  alono 
Makes  an  unseen  world  our  own ; 
Faith  relinquish^,  how  we  roam, 
Feel  our  way,  and  leave  our  home ! 
Spurious  gems  our  hopes  entice. 
While  we  scorn  the  pearl  of  price; 
And,  preferring  servants'  pay, 
Cast  the  children's  bread  aAvay. 


THE  ACQUIESCENCE  OF  PURE  LOVE. 

LoYE !  if  thy  destined  sacrifice  am  I, 
Come,  slay  thy  victim,  and  prepare  thy  fires ; 
Plunged  in  thy  depths  of  mercy,  let  me  die 
The  death  which  every  soul  that  lives  desires ! 

I  watch  my  hours,  and  see  them  fleet  away ; 
The  time  is  long  that  I  have  languish'd  here ; 
Yet  all  my  thoughts  thy  purposes  obey. 
With  no  reluctance,  cheerful  and  sincere. 

To  me  'tis  equal  whether  love  ordain 
My  life  or  death,  appoint  me  pain  or  ease  ; 
My  soul  perceives  no  real  ill  in  pain ; 
In  ease  or  health  no  real  good  she  sees. 

One  Good  she  covets,  and  that  Good  alone, 
To  choose  thy  will,  from  selfish  bias  free ; 
And  to  prefer  a  cottage  to  a  throne. 
And  grief  to  comfort,  if  it  pleases  thee. 

That  we  should  bear  the  cross  is  tliy  command, 
Die  to  the  w^orld,  and  live  to  self  no  more ; 
Suffer,  unmoved,  beneath  the  rudest  hand. 
As  pleased  when  shipwreck'd  as  when  safe  on  shore. 


REPOSE  IN  GOD. 

Blest  !  who,  far  from  all  mankind, 
This  world's  shadows  left  behind, 
Hears  from  Heaven  a  gentle  strain 
Whispering  Love,  and  loves  again. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.._^^^ 557 

Idlest !  wlio,  free  from  self-esteem, 
Dives  into  the  great  Supreme, 
All  desire  beside  discards, 
Joys  inferior  none  regards. 

Blest!  who  in  thy  bosom  seeks 
Rest  that  nothing  eartlily  breaks, 
Dead  to  self  and  worldly  things. 
Lost  in  thee,  thou  King  of  kings  ! 

Ye  that  know  my  secret  fire. 
Softly  speak  and  soon  retire ; 
Favor  my  divine  repose, 
Spare  the  sleep  a  God  bestows. 


GLORY  TO  GOD  ALONE. 

On,  loved !  but  not  enough — though  dearer  far 
Than  self  and  its  most  loved  enjoyments  are ; 
Kone  duly  loves  thee,  but  who,  nobly  free 
From  sensual  objects,  finds  his  all  in  Thee. 

Glory  of  God !  thou  stranger  here  below. 
Whom  man  nor  knows,  nor  feels  a  wish  to  know ; 
Our  Faith  and  Reason  are  both  shock'd  to  find 
Man  in  the  post  of  honor — Thee  behind. 

Reason  exclaims — ''  Let  every  creature  fall. 
Ashamed,  abased,  before  the  Lord  of  all;" 
And  Faith,  o'erwhelm'd  with  such  a  dazzling  blaze. 
Feebly  describes  the  beauty  she  surveys. 

Yet  man,  dim-sighted  man,  and  rash  as  blind, 
Deaf  to  the  dictates  of  his  better  mind. 
In  frantic  competition  dares  the  skies, 
And  claims  precedence  of  the  Only  Wise. 

Oh,  lost  in  vanity,  till  once  self-known ! 
Nothing  is  great,  or  good,  but  God  alone ; 
When  thou  slialt  stand  before  His  awful  face, 
Then,  at  the  last,  thy  pride  shall  know  His  place. 

Glorious,  Almighty,  First,  and  without  end ! 
When  wilt  thou  melt  the  mountains  and  descend? 


558  cowper's  poetical  works. 

When  wilt  thou  shoot  abroad  thy  conquering  rays, 
And  teach  these  atoms  thou  hast  made,  thy  praise  ? 

Thy  Glory  is  the  sweetest  heaven  I  feel ; 
And,  if  I  seek  it  with  too  fierce  a  zeal, 
Thy  Love,  triumphant  o'er  a  selfish  will. 
Taught  me  the  passion,  and  inspires  it  still. 

My  reason,  all  my  faculties,  unite. 
To  make  thy  glory  their  supreme  delight : 
Forbid  it.  Fountain  of  my  brightest  days, 
That  I  should  rob  thee,  and  usurp  thy  praise  1 

My  soul !  rest  happy  in  thy  low  estate. 
Nor  hope,  nor  wish,  to  be  esteem'd  or  great ; 
To  take  the  impression  of  a  will  divine — 
Be  that  thy  glory,  and  those  riches  thine. 

Confess  him  righteous  in  his  just  decrees. 

Love  what  he  loves,  and  let  his  pleasure  please ; 

Die  daily ;  from  the  touch  of  sin  recede ; 

Then  thou  hast  crown VI  him,  and  he  reigns  indeed. 


SELF-LOVE  AND  TRUTH  INCOMPATIBLE. 

From  thorny  wilds  a  monster  came. 
That  fiird  my  soul  with  fear  and  shame ; 
The  birds,  forgetful  of  their  mirth, 
Droop'd  at  the  sight,  and  fell  to  earth ; 
When  thus  a  sage  address'd  mine  ear, 
Himself  unconscious  of  a  fear : 

"  Whence  all  this  terror  and  surprise, 
Distracted  looks,  and  streaming  eyes  ? 
Far  from  the  world  and  its  affairs,' 
The  joy  it  boasts,  the  pain  it  shares, 
Surrender,  without  guile  or  art. 
To  God  an  undivided  heart ; 
The  savage  form,  so  fear'd  before. 
Shall  scare  your  trembling  soul  no  more ; 
For,  loathsome  as  the  sight  may  be, 
'Tis  but  the  Lo'ce  of  self  you  see. 
'  Fix  all  your  love  on  God  alone. 
Choose  but  His  will,  and  hate  your  own : 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  559 

'Ro  fear  shall- in  3'onr  path  be  found, 
The  dreary  waste  shall  bloom  aroimd, 
And  3^ou,  through  all  your  happy  days, 
Shall  bless  his  name,  and  sing  his  praise." 

Oh,  lovely  solitude,  how  sweet 
The  silence  of  this  calm  retreat! 
Here  Truth,  the  fair  whom  I  pursue, 
Gives  all  lier  beauty  to  my  view  ; 
The  simple,  unadorn'd  display 
Charms  every  pain  and  fear  away. 
O  Truth,  whom  millions  proudly  slight : 
O  Truth,  my  treasure  and  delight ; 
Accept  this  tribute  to  thy  name, 
And  this  poor  heart  from  which  it  came ! 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD  THE  END  OF  LIFE. 

Since  life  in  sorrow  must  be  spent, 
So  be  it — I  am  well  content. 
And  meekly  wait  my  last  remove, 
Seeking  only  growth  in  love. 

No  bliss  I  seek,  but  to  fulfil 
In  life,  in  death,  thy  lovely  will ; 
No  succors  in  my  woes  I  want. 
Save  what  Thou  art  pleased  to  grant. 

Our  days  are  number'd,  let  us  spare 
Our  anxious  hearts  a  needless  care : 
Tis  thine  to  number  out  our  days ; 
Ours  to  give  them  to  thy  praise. 

Love  is  our  only  business  here. 
Love,  simple,  constant,  and  sincere ; 
O  blessed  days,  thy  servants  see. 
Spent,  O  Lord !  in  pleasing  Thee ! 


LOVE   FAITHFUL   IN    THE  ABSENCE   OF   THE 
BELOVED. 

In  vain  ye  woo  me  to  your  harmless  joys. 

Ye  pleasant  bowers,  remote  from  strife  and  noise ; 

Your  shades,  the  witnesses  of  many  a  vow, 


560  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Breathed  forth  in  happier  days,  are  irksome  now; 
Denied  that  smile  'twas  once  my  heaven  to  see, 
Such  scenes,  such  pleasures,  are  all  past  with  me. 

In  vain  He  leaves  me,  I  shall  love  him  still ; 
And,  though  I  mourn,  not  murmur  at  his  will ; 
I  have  no  cause — an  object  all  divine 
Might  well  grow  weary  of  a  soul  like  mine  ; 
Yet  pity  me,  great  God !  forlorn,  alone. 
Heartless  and  hopeless,  Life  and  Love  all  gone ! 


LOVE  PURE  AND  FERVENT. 

Jealous,  and  with  love  overflowing, 
God  demands  a  fervent  heart; 

Grace  and  bounty  still  bestowing, 
Calls  us  to  a  grateful  part. 

Oh,  then,  with  supreme  affection 

His  paternal  Will  regard! 
If  it  cost  us  some  dejection, 

Every  sigh  has  its  reward. 

Perfect  Love  has  power  to  soften 
Cares  that  might  our  peace  destroy ; 

Nay,  does  more — transforms  them  often, 
Changing  sorrow  into  joy. 

Sovereign  Love  appoints  the  measure, 
And  the  number  of  our  pains ; 

And  is  pleased  when  we  find  pleasure 
In  the  trials  he  ordains. 


THE  ENTIRE  SURRENDER. 

Peace  has  unveil'd  her  smiling  face, 
And  woos  thy  soul  to  her  embrace, 
Enjoy'd  with  ease,  if  thou  refrain 
From  earthly  love,  else  sought  in  vain ; 
She  dwells  with  all  who  Truth  prefer. 
But  seeks  not  them  who  seek  not  her. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  561 

Yield  to  the  Lord,  with  simple  heart, 
All  that  thou  hast,  and  all  thou  art ; 
Renounce  all  strength  but  strength  divine; 
And  peace  shall  be  forever  thine : 
Behold  the  path  which  I  have  trod, 
Ky  path,  till  I  go  home  to  God. 


THE  PERFECT  SACRIFICE. 

I  PLACE  an  offering  at  thy  shrine, 
From  taint  and  blemish  clear. 

Simple  and  pure  in  its  design, 
Of  all  that  I  hold  dear. 

I  yield  thee  back  thy  gifts  again, 
Thy  gifts  which  most  I  prize ; 

Desirous  only  to  retain 
The  notice  of  thine  eyes. 

But  if,  by  thine  adored  decree, 
That  blessing  be  denied ; 

Resign'd  and  unreluctant,  see 
My  every  wish  subside. 

Thy  w^ill  in  all  things  I  approve, 

Exalted  or  cast  down ! 
Thy  will  in  every  state  I  love, 

And  even  in  thy  frown. 


GOD  HIDES  HIS  PEOPLE. 

To  lay  the  soul  that  loves  him  low 

Becomes  the  Only  Wise ; 
To  hide,  beneath  a  veil  of  woe. 

The  children  of  the  skies. 

Man,  though  a  worm,  would  yet  be  great ; 

Though  feeble,  would  seem  strong; 
Assumes  an  independent  state. 

By  sacrilege  and  wrong. 


502  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Strange  the  reverse,  wliich,  once  abased, 
The  haughty  creature  proves! 

He  feels  his  soul  a  barren  waste, 
l^or  dares  affirm  he  loves. 

Scorn'd  by  the  thoughtless  and  the  vain, 

To  God  he  presses  near ; 
Superior  to  the  world's  disdain, 

And  happy  in  its  sneer. 

Oh,  welcome,  in  his  heart  he  says. 

Humility  and  shame ! 
Farewell  the  wish  for  human  praise. 

The  music  of  a  name ! 

But  will  not  scandal  mar  the  good 
That  I  might  else  perform? 

And  can  God  work  it,  if  he  would. 
By  so  despised  a  worm? 

Ah,  vainly  anxious! — leave  the  Lord 

To  rule  tliee,  and  dispose ; 
Sweet  is  the  mandate  of  his  word, 

And  gracious  all  he  does. 

He  draws  from  human  littleness 
His  grandeur  and  renown ; 

And  generous  hearts  with  joy  confess 
The  triumph  all  his  own. 

Down,  tlien,  with  self-exalting  thoughts; 

Thy  faitli  and  hope  employ 
To  welcome  all  that  he  allots. 

And  suffer  shame  with  joy. 

No  longer,  then,  thou  wilt  encroach 

On  his  eternal  right ; 
And  he  shall  smile  at  thy  approach, 

And  make  thee  his  delight. 


THE  SECRETS  OF  DIVINE  LOVE  ARE  TO  EE  KEPT. 

Sun!  stay  tliy  course,  this  moment  stay- 
Suspend  the  overflowing  tide  of  day. 
Divulge  not  such  a  love  as  mine. 
Ah !  hide  the  mystery  divine ; 


A 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  563 

Lest  man,  who  deems  my  glory  shame, 
Should  learn  the  secret  of  my  flame. 

O  Night !  propitious  to  my  views, 
Thy  sable  awning  wide  ditfuse ; 
Conceal  alike  my  joy  and  pain, 
Nor  draw  thy  curtain  back  again. 
Though  Morning,  by  the  tears  she  shows, 
Seems  to  participate  my  woes. 

Ye  Stars!  whose  faint  and  feeble  tires 

Express  my  languishing  desires, 

Whose  slender  beams  pervade  the  skies, 

As  silent  as  my  secret  siglis. 

Those  emanations  of  a  soul 

That  darts  her  fires  beyond  the  Pole ; 

Your  rays,  that  scarce  assist  the  sight, 
That  pierce,  but  not  displace  the  night; 
That  shine  indeed,  but  nothing  show 
Of  all  those  various  scenes  below. 
Bring  no  disturbance,  rather  prove 
Incentives  to  a  sacred  love. 

Thou  Moon!  whose  never-failing  course 

Bespeaks  a  providential  force — 

Go,  tell  the  tidings  of  my  flame 

To  Him  who  calls  the  stars  by  name ; 

Whose  absence  kills,  wliose  presence  cheers. 

Who  blots,  or  brightens,  all  my  years. 

While,  in  the  blue  abyss  of  space, 
Thine  orb  performs  its  rapid  race ; 
Still  whisper  in  his  listening  ears 
The  language  of  my  sighs  and  tears ; 
Tell  him,  I  seek  him,  far  below, 
Lost  in  a  wilderness  of  woe. 

Ye  thought-composing,  silent  Hours! 
Diffusing  peace  o'er  all  my  powers; 
Friends  of  the  pensive,  who  conceal, 
In  darkest  shades,  the  flames  I  feel; 
To  you  I  trust,  and  safely  may. 
The  love  that  wastes  my  strength  away. 


564  cowper's  poetical  v/orks. 

In  sylvan  scenes  and  caverns  rude, 
I  taste  the  sweets  of  solitude ; 
Retired  indeed,  but  not  alone, 
I  sliare  them  with  a  Spouse  unknown, 
"Who  hides  me  here  from  envious  eyes. 
From  all  intrusion  and  surprise. 

Imbowering  Shades  and  Dens  profound ! 
Where  Echo  rolls  the  voice  around ; 
Mountains !  wdiose  elevated  heads 
A  moist  and  misty  veil  overspreads; 
Disclose  a  solitary  bride 
To  him  I  love — to  none  beside. 

Ye  Rills!  that,  murmuring  all  the  way, 
Among  the  polish'd  pebbles  stray ; 
Creep  silently  along  the  ground, 
Lest,  drawn  by  that  harmonious  sound. 
Some  wanderer,  whom  I  w^ould  not  meet, 
Should  stumble  on  my  loved  retreat. 

Enamell'd  Meads,  and  Hillocks  green. 
And  Streams  that  Avater  all  the  scene ! 
Ye  Torrents,  loud  in  distant  ears ! 
Ye  Fountains,  that  receive  my  tears ! 
Ah,  still  conceal,  Avith  caution  due, 
A  charge  I  trust  with  none  but  you ! 

If,  wdien  my  pain  and  grief  increase, 
I  seem  to  enjoy  the  sweetest  peace ; 
It  is  because  I  find  so  fair, 
Tlie  charming  object  of  my  care. 
That  I  can  sport  and  pleasure  make 
Of  torment  suifer'd  for  his  sake. 

Ye  Meads  and  Groves,  unconscious  things ! 
Ye  know  not  whence  my  pleasure  springs ; 
Ye  know  not,  and  ye  cannot  know. 
The  source  from  which  my  sorrows  flow : 
The  dear  sole  Cause  of  all  I  feel, — 
He  knows,  and  understands  them  well. 

Ye  Deserts,  where  the  wild  beasts  rove, 
Scenes  sacred  to  my  hours  of  love! 
Ye  Forests,  in  whose  shades  I  stray, 
Benighted  under  burning  day ! 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  565 

Ah,  wliisper  not  liow  blest  am  T, 
Nor  wliile  I  live,  nor  when  I  die ! 

Ye  Lambs,  who  sport  beneath  these  shades, 

And  bound  along  the  mossy  glades ! 

Be  taught  a  salutary  fear, 

And  cease  to  bleat  when  I  am  near : 

The  wolf  may  hear  your  harmless  cry, 

"Whom  ye  should  dread  as  much  as  I. 

How  calm,  amid  these  scenes,  my  mind ! 
How  perfect  is  the  peace  I  find ! 
Oh,  hush,  be  still,  my  every  part, 
My  tongue,  my  pulse,  my  beating  heart  1 
That  Love,  aspiring  to  its  Cause, 
May  suiFer  not  a  moment's  pause. 

Ye  swift-finn'd  Nations,  that  abide 
In  seas  as  fathomless  as  wide ; 
And,  unsuspicious  of  a  snare. 
Pursue  at  large  your  pleasures  there  : 
Poor  sportive  fools  !  how  soon  does  man 
Your  heedless  ignorance  trepan  ! 

Aw\ay !  dive  deep  into  the  brine, 
Where  never  yet  sunk  plummet  line ; 
Trust  me,  the  vast  leviathan 
Is  merciful,  compared  with  man  ; 
Avoid  his  arts,  forsake  the  beach. 
And  never  play  within  his  reach. 

My  soul  her  bondage  ill  endures; 

I  pant  for  liberty  like  yours ; 

I  long  for  that  immense  profound. 

That  knows  no  bottom  and  no  bound : 

Lost  in  infinity,  to  prove 

The  incomprehensible  of  Love. 

Ye  Birds !  that  lessen  as  ye  fly, 
And  vanish  in  the  distant  sky  , 
To  whom  yon  airy  waste  belongs. 
Resounding  with  your  cheerful  songs  , 
Haste  to  escape  from  human  sight , 
Fear  less  the  vulture  and  the  kite. 
48 


56Q  cowper's  poetical  works. 

How  blest,  and  bow  secure  am  T, 
"When,  quitting  eartb,  I  soar  on  bigh ; 
When  lost,  like  you  I  disappear, 
And  float  in  a  sublimer  sphere ! 
Whence  fiiUing,  within  human  view, 
I  am  ensnared,  and  caught  like  you ! 

Omniscient  God !  whose  notice  deigns 
To  try  the  heart  and  search  the  reins — 
Compassionate  the  numerous  woes, 
I  dare  not,  even  to  thee,  disclose ; 
Oil  save  me  from  the  cruel  hands 
Of  men  who  fear  not  thy  commands ! 

Love,  all-subduing  and  divine. 
Care  for  a  creature  truly  thine  ; 
Keign  in  a  heart,  disposed  to  own 
1^0  sovereign  but  thyself  alone  ; 
Cherish  a  bride  Avho  cannot  rove, 
Noj-  quit  thee  for  a  meaner  love ! 


THE  VICISSITUDES  EXPERIENCED  IN  THE 
CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 

I  SUFFER  fruitless  anguish  day  by  day  ; 
Each  moment,  as  it  passes,  marks  my  pain ; 
Scarce  knowing  whither,  doubtfully  I  stray, 
And  see  no  end  of  all  that  I  sustain. 

The  more  I  strive  the  more  I  am  withstood; 
Anxiety  increasing  every  hour. 
My  spirit  finds  no  rest,  performs  no  good. 
And  nauglit  remains  of  all  my  former  power. 

My  peace  of  heart  is  fled,  I  know  not  where  ; 
My  happy  hours,  like  shadows,  pass'd  away  ; 
Their  sweet  remembrance  doubles  all  my  care ; 
Night  darker  seems,  succeeding  such  a  day. 

Dear  faded  joys  and  impotent  regret. 
What  profit  is  there  in  incessant  tears? 
O  Thou,  whom,  once  beheld,  we  ne'er  forget, 
Reveal  thy  Love,  and  banish  all  my  fears ! 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  567 

Alas !  He  flies  me — treats  me  as  his  foe, 
Views  not  my  sorrows,  hears  not  when  I  plead; 
Woe  such  as  mine,  despised,  neglected  woe, 
Unless  it  shortens  life,  is  vain  indeed. 

Pierced  with  a  thousand  wounds,  I  yet  survive ; 
My  pangs  are  keen,  but  no  complaint  transpires ; 
And,  while  in  terrors  of  thy  wrath  I  live, 
Hell  seems  to  lose  its  less  tremendous  fires. 

Has  Hell  a  pain  I  would  not  gladly  bear. 
So  thy  severe  displeasure  might  subside? 
Hopeless  of  ease,  I  seem  already  there. 
My  life  extinguish'd,  and  yet  death  denied. 

Is  this  the  joy  so  promised — this  the  love. 
The  unchanging  love,  so  sworn  in  better  days? 
Ah,  dangerous  glories  !  shown  me,  but  to  prove 
How  lovely  Thou,  and  I  how  rash  to  gaze. 

Why  did  I  see  them  ?  had  I  still  remained 
Untaught,  still  ignorant  how  fair  thou  art. 
My  humbler  wishes  I  had  soon  obtain'd. 
Nor  know^n  the  torments  of  a  doubting  heart. 

Deprived  of  all,  yet  feeling  no  desires. 
Whence  then,  I  cry,  the  pangs  that  I  sustain  ? 
Dubious  and  uninform'd,  my  soul  inquires. 
Ought  she  to  cherish,  or  shake  off  her  pain? 

Suffering,  I  suffer  not — sincerely  love. 
Yet  feel  no  touch  of  that  enlivening  flame  ; 
As  chance  inclines  me,  unconcern'd  I  move. 
All  times,  and  all  events,  to  me  the  same. 

I  search  my  heart,  and  not  a  wish  is  there 
But  burns  with  zeal  that  hated  self  may  fall ; 
Such  is  the  sad  disquietude  I  share, 
A  sea  of  doubts,  and  self  the  source  of  all. 

I  ask  not  life,  nor  do  I  wish  to  die ; 
And,  if  thine  hand  accomplish  not  my  cure, 
I  w^ould  not  purchase  with  a  single  sigh 
A  free  discharge  from  all  that  I  endure. 


568  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

I  groan  in  chains,  yet  want  not  a  release ; 
Am  sick,  and  know  not  the  distemper'd  part ; 
Am  just  as  void  of  purpose  as  of  peace  ; 
Have  neither  plan,  nor  fear,  nor  hope,  nor  heart. 

My  claim  to  life,  though  sought  with  earnest  care, 
ISTo  liglit  within  me,  or  without  me,  shows ; 
Once  I  had  faith,  but  now,  in  self-despair 
Find  my  chief  cordial  and  my  best  repose. 

My  soul  is  a  forgotten  thing ;  she  sinks. 
Sinks  and  is  lost,  without  a  wish  to  rise ; 
Feels  an  indifference  she  abhors,  and  thinks 
Her  name  erased  forever  from  the  skies. 

Language  affords  not  my  distress  a  name, — 
Yet  is  it  real,  and  no  sickly  dream  : 
'Tis  Love  inflicts  it ;  though  to  feel  that  flame 
Is  all  I  know  of  happiness  supreme. 

When  Love  departs,  a  chaos  wide  and  vast, 
And  dark  as  Hell,  is  open'd  in  the  soul ; 
When  Love  returns,  the  gloomy  scene  is  past, 
1^0  tempests  shake  her,  and  no  fears  control. 

Then  tell  me,  why  these  ages  of  delay  ? 
O  Love,  all-excellent,  once  more  appear ; 
Disperse  the  shades,  and  snatch  me  into  day, 
From  this  abyss  of  night,  these  floods  of  fear ! 

No — Love  is  angry,  will  not  now  endure 

A  sigh  of  mine  or  suffer  a  complaint ; 

He  smites  me,  wounds  me,  and  withholds  the  cure ; 

Exhausts  my  powers,  and  leaves  me  sick  and  faint. 

He  wounds,  and  hides  the  hand  that  gave  the  blow ; 
He  flies,  he  reappears,  and  wounds  again ; 
Was  ever  heart  that  loved  thee  treated  so  ? 
Yet  I  adore  thee,  though  it  seem  in  vain. 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me,  whom,  when  lost  and  blind, 
Thou  didst  distinguish,  and  vouchsafe  to  choose. 
Before  thy  laws  were  written  in.  my  mind. 
While  yet  the  world  had  all  my  thoughts  and  views  ? 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  569^ 

J^ow  leave  me,  when,  enamor'd  of  thy  laws 
I  make  thy  glory  my  supreme  delight? 
Now  blot  me  from  thy  register,  and  cause 
A  faithful  soul  to  perish  from  thy  sight  ? 

What  can  have  caused  the  change  which  I  deplore? 
Is  it  to  prove  me,  if  my  heart  be  true  ? 
Permit  me  then,  while  prostrate  I  adore, 
To  draw,  and  place  its  picture  in  thy  view. 

'Tis  thine  without  reserve,  most  simply  thine ; 
So  given  to  thee,  that  it  is  not  my  own ; 
A  wilhng  captive  of  thy  grace  divine; 
And  loves,  and  seeks  thee,  for  Thyself  alone. 

Pain  cannot  move  it,  danger  cannot  scare  ; 
Pleasure  and  wealth,  in  its  esteem,  are  dust ; 
It  loves  thee,  even  when  least  inclined  to  spare 
Its  tenderest  feelings,  and  avows  thee  just. 

'Tis  all  thine  own ;  my  spirit  is  so  too. 
An  undivided  offering  at  thy  shrine; 
It  seeks  thy  glory  with  no  double  view — 
Thy  glory,  with  no  secret  bent  to  mine. 

Love,  holy  Love !  and  art  thou  not  severe, 
To  slight  me,  thus  devoted,  and  thus  fix'd  ? 
Mine  is  an  everlasting  ardor,  clear 
From  all  self-bias,  generous  and  unmix'd. 

But  I  am  silent,  seeing  what  I  see — 
And  fear,  with  cause,  that  I  am  self-deceived ; 
Not  even  my  faith  is  from  suspicion  free. 
And  that  I  love  seems  not  to  be  believed. 

Live  Thou,  and  reign  forever,  glorious  Lord  I 
My  last,  least  offering  I  present  thee  now — 
Renounce  me,  leave  me,  and  be  still  adored ! 
Slay  me,  my  God,  and  I  applaud  the  blow. 


5*70  cowper's  poetical  works. 


WATCHING  UNTO  GOD  IN  THE  NIGHT  SEASON. 

Sleep  at  last  has  fled  these  eyes, 
Nor  do  I  regret  his  flight ; 
More  alert  iny  spirits  rise, 
.  And  my  heart  is  free  and  light. 

N'ature  silent  all  around, 
Not  a  single  witness  near ; 
God  as  soon  as  sought  is  found ; 
And  the  flame  of  love  burns  clear. 

Interruption,  all  day  long. 
Checks  the  current  of  my  joys  ; 
Creatures  press  me  with  a  throng, 
And  preplex  me  with  their  noise. 

Undisturb'd  I  muse  all  night 
On  the  first  Eternal  Fair; 
Nothing  there  obstructs  delight ; 
Love  is  renovated  there. 

Life,  with  its  perpetual  stir. 
Proves  a  foe  to  Love  and  me ; 
Fresh  entanglements  occur — 
Comes  the  night,  and  sets  me  free. 

N"ever  more,  sweet  sleep,  suspend 
My  enjoyments,  always  new  : 
Leave  me  to  possess  my  Friend ; 
Other  eyes  and  hearts  subdue. 

Hush  the  world,  that  I  may  wake 
To  the  taste  of  pure  dehghts ; 
Oh  the  pleasures  I  partake — 
God,  the  partner  of  my  nights ! 

David,  for  the  self-same  cause, 
Night  preferred  to  busy  day  : 
Hearts,  whom  heavenly  beauty  draws. 
Wish  the  glaring  sun  away. 

Sleep,  self-lovers,  is  for  you  : 
Souls  that  love  celestial  know, 
Fairer  scenes  by  night  can  view 
Than  the  sun  could  ever  show. 


TRANSLATIONS   FROM    GUION.  571 


ON  THE  SAME. 

Season  of  my  purest  pleasure, 

Sealer  of  observing  eyes ! 
When,  in  larger,  freer  measure, 

I  can  commune  with  the  skies ; 
While,  beneath  thy  shade  extended, 

Weary  man  forgets  liis  woes ; 
I,  my  daily  trouble  ended. 

Find,  in  watching,  my  repose. 

Silence  all  around  prevailing. 

Nature  hush'd  in  slumber  sweet — 
No  rude  noise  mine  ears  assailing, 

Now  my  God  and  I  can  meet : 
Universal  nature  slumbers, 

And  my  soul  partakes  the  calm, 
Breathes  her  ardor  out  in  numbers, 

Plaintive  song  or  lofty  psalm. 

Now  my  passion,  pure  and  holy, 

Shines  and  burns  without  restraint; 
Which  the  day's  fatigue  and  folly 

Cause  to  languish,  dim  and  faint: 
Charming  hours  of  relaxation ! 

How  I  dread  the  ascending  sun ! 
Surely,  idle  conversation 

Is  an  evil  match'd  by  none. 

Worldly  prate  and  babble  hurt  me ; 

Unintelligible  prove ; 
Neither  teach  me  nor  divert  me ; 

I  have  ears  for  none  but  Love. 
Me  they  rude  esteem,  and  foolish, 

Hearing  my  absurd  replies ; 
I  have  neither  art's  tine  polish. 

Nor  the  knowledge  of  the  wise. 

Simple  souls,  and  unpolluted 
By  conversing  with  the  grea' 

Have  a  mind  and  taste  ill  suite 
To  their  dignity  and  state ; 


572  cowper's  poetical  works. 

All  their  talking,  reading,  writing, 
Are  but  talents  misapplied  ; 

Infants'  prattle  I  delight  in, 
Nothing  human  choose  beside. 

'Tis  the  secret  fear  of  sinning 

Checks  my  tongue,  or  I  should  say, 
When  I  see  the  night  beginning 

I  am  glad  of  parting  day : 
Love  this  gentle  admonition 

Whispers  soft  within  my  breast: 
"Choice  befits  not  thy  condition, 

Acquiescence  suits  thee  best." 

Henceforth,  the  repose  and  pleasure 

Night  affords  me  I  resign ; 
And  tliy  will  shall  be  the  measure. 

Wisdom  infinite  !  of  mine : 
Wishing  is  but  inclination 

Quarrelling  witli  thy  decrees, 
Wayward  Nature  finds  the  occasion,— 

'Tis  her  folly  and  disease. 

Night,  with  its  sublime  enjoyments. 

Now  no  longer  will  I  choose ; 
Nor  the  day,  with  its  employments, 

Irksome  as  they  seem,  refuse  ; 
Lessons  of  a  God's  inspiring 

Neither  time  nor  place  impedes ; 
From  our  wishing  and  desiring 

Our  unhappiness  proceeds. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

Night  !  how  I  love  thy  silent  shades, 

My  spirits  they  compose ; 
The  bliss  of  Heaven  my  soul  pervades, 

In  spite  of  all  my  woes. 

While  sleep  instils  lier  poppy  dews 

In  every  slumbering  eye, 
I  watch,  to  meditate  and  muse, 

In  blest  tranquillity. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  573. 

And  when  I  feel  a  God  immense 

Familiarly  impart, 
With  every  proof  he  can  dispense, 

His  favor  to  my  heart : 

My  native  meanness  I  lament, 

Though  most  divinely  filPd 
With  all  the  ineffahle  content 

That  Deity  can  yield. 

His  purpose  and  his  course  he  keeps ; 

Treads  all  my  reasonings  down ; 
Commands  me  out  of  nature's  deeps, 

And  hides  me  in  his  own. 

When  in  the  dust,  its  proper  j)lace, 

Our  pride  of  heart  we  lay ; 
'Tis  then  a  deluge  of  his  grace 

Bears  all  our  sins  away. 

Thou  whom  I  serve,  and  whose  I  am, 

Whose  influence  from  on  high 
Refines,  and  still  refines  my  flame, 

And  makes  my  fetters  fly ; 

How  wretched  is  the  creature's  state 
Who  thwarts  thy  gracious  powder ; 

Crush'd  under  sin's  enormous  weight, 
Increasing  every  hour ! 

.The  night,  when  pass'd  entire  with  thee, 

How  luminous  and  clear ! 
Then  sleep  has  no  delights  for  me. 

Lest  thou  shouldst  disappear. 

My  Saviour !  occupy  me  still 

In  this  secure  recess ; 
Let  Reason  slumher  if  she  will, 

My  joy  shall  not  be  less. 

Let  Reason  slumber  out  the  night; 

But  if  thou  deign  to  make 
My  soul  the  abode  of  Truth  and  Light, 

Ah,  keep  my  heart  awake ! 


574  cowper's  poetical  works. 


THE  JOY  OF  THE  CROSS. 

Loxa  plunged  in  sorrow,  I  resign 
My  soul  to  that  dear  hand  of  thine, 

Without  reserve  or  fear ; 
That  hand  shall  wipe  my  streaming  eyes; 
Or  into  smiles  of  glad  surprise 

Transform  the  falling  tear. 

My  sole  possession  is  thy  love; 
In  earth  beneath,  or  heaven  above, 

I  have  no  other  store ; 
And,  though  with  fervent  suit  I  pray, 
And  importune  thee  night  and  day, 

I  ask  thee  nothing  more. 

My  ra])id  hours  pursue  the  course 
Prescribed  them  by  Love's  sweetest  force, 

And  I  thy  sovereign  will. 
Without  a  wish  to  escape  my  doom ; 
Though  still  a  sufferer  from  the  womb, 

And  doom'd  to  suffer  still. 

By  thy  command,  where'er  I  stray, 

Sorrow  attends  me  all  my  way, 
A  never-failing  friend; 

And,  if  my  sufferings  may  augment 

Thy  praise,  behold  me  well  content- 
Let  sorrow  still  attend ! 

It  cost  me  no  regret,  that  she, 

AVho  followed  Christ,  should  follow  me; 

And  though,  where'er  she  goes, 
Thorns  spring  spontaneous  at  her  feet, 
I  love  her,  and  extract  a  sweet 

From  all  my  bitter  woes. 

Adieu!  ye  vain  delights  of  earth, 
Insipid  sports,  and  cliildish  mirth, 

I  taste  no  sweets  in  you ; 
Unknown  delights  are  in  the  cross, 
All  joy  beside  to  me  is  dross ; 

And  Jesus  thought  so  too. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  6*75 

The  Cross !     Oh,  ravishment  and  bliss — 
How  grateful  even  its  anguish  is; 

Its  bitterness  how  sweet! 
There  every  sense,  and  all  the  mind, 
In  all  her  faculties  refined. 

Tastes  happiness  complete.    . 

Souls  once  enabled  to*  disdain 
Base  sublunary  joys,  maintain 

Their  dignity  secure ; 
The  fever  of  desire  is  pass'd, 
And  love  has  all  its  genuine  taste- — 

Is  delicate  and  pure. 

Self-love  no  grace  in  sorrow  sees, 
Consults  her  own  peculiar  ease; 

'Tis  all  the  bliss  she  knows : 
But  nobler  aims  true  Love  employ ; 
In  self-denial  is  her  joy. 

In  suffering  her  repose. 

Sorrow  and  Love  go  side  by  side ; 
Nor  height  nor  depth  can  e'er  divide 

Their  heaven-appointed  bands; 
Those  dear  associates  still  are  one, 
Nor  till  the  race  of  hfe  is  run 

Disjoin  their  wedded  hands. 

Jesus,  avenger  of  our  fall, 
Thou  faitliful  lover,  above  all 

The  Cross  has  ever  borne !  • 
Oh,  tell  me, — life  is  in  thy  voice, — 
How  much  afflictions  were  thy  choice 

And  sloth  and  ease  thy  scorn ! 

Thy  choice  and  mine  shall  b^  the  same, 
Inspirer  of  tliat  holy  flame. 

Which  must  forever  blaze ! 
To  take  the  Cross  and  follow  thee, 
Where  love  and  duty  lead,  shall  be 

My  portion  and  my  praise. 


576  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 


JOY  IN  MAKTYRDOM. 

Sweet  tenants  of  tliis  grove ! 

Who  sing  without  design, 
A  song  of  artless  love, 

In  unison  with  mine : 
These  echoing  shades  return 

Full  many  a  note  of  ours, 
That  wise  ones  cannot  learn, 

With  all  their  boasted  powers. 

O  Thou !  whose  sacred  charms 

These  hearts  so  seldom  love, 
Although  thy  beauty  warms 

And  blesses  all  above ; 
How  slow  are  human  things 

To  choose  their  happiest  lot ! 
All-glorious  King  of  kings. 

Say  why  we  love  thee  not ! 

This  heart,  that  cannot  rest. 

Shall  thine  forever  prove; 
Though  bleeding  and  distressM, 

Yet  joyful  in  thy  love: 
'Tis  happy  tliough  it  breaks 

Beneath  thy  chastening  hand ; 
And  speechless,  yet  it  speaks. 

What  thou  canst  understand. 


SIMPLE  TRUST. 

Still,  still,  without  ceasing, 

I  feel  it  increasing. 
This  fervcTi*  of  holy  desire  ; 

And  often  exclaim. 

Let  me  die  in  the  flame 
Of  a  love  that  can  never  expire! 

Had  I  words  to  explain 
What  she  must  sustain 
Who  dies  to  the  world  and  its  ways ; 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  57*7 

How  joy  and  affright, 
Distress  and  delight, 
Alternately  checker  her  days : 

Thou,  sweetly  severe ! 

I  would  make  thee  appear, 
In  all  thou  art  pleased  to  award : 

Not  more  in  the  sweet 

Than  the  bitter  I  meet. 
My  tender  and  merciful  Lord. 

This  faith,  in  the  dark, 

Pursmng  its  mark. 
Through  many  sharp  trials  of  love, 

Is  the  sorrowful  waste 

That  is  to  be  pass'd 
On  the  way  to  the  Canaan  above. 


THE  NECESSITY  OF  SELF-ABASEMENT. 

Source  of  love,  my  brighter  sun, 
Thou  alone  my  comfort  art ; 

See,  my  race  is  almost  run ; 

Hast  thou  left  this  trembling  heart  ? 

In  my  youth  thy  charming  eyes 
Drew  me  from  the  ways  of  men  ; 

Then  I  drank  unmingled  joys; 
Frown  of  thine  saw  never  then. 

Spouse  of  Christ  was  then  my  name ; 

And,  devoted  all  to  thee. 
Strangely  jealous  I  became. 

Jealous  of  this  Self  in  me. 

Thee  to  love,  and  none  beside, 
Was  my  darling,  sole  employ; 

"While  alternately  I  died, 
Now  of  grief,  and  now  of  joy. 

Through  the  dark  and  silent  night 
On  thy  radiant  smiles  I  dwelt; 

And  to  see  the  dawning  light 
Was  the  keenest  pain  I  felt. 
49 


578  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Thou  my  gracious  teacher  wert ; 

And  thine  eye^  so  close  applied, 
While  it  watch'd  thy  pupiPs  heart, 

Seem'd  to  look  at  none  beside. 

Conscious  of  no  evil  drift, 
This,  I  cried,  is  Love  indeed! 

'Tis  the  Giver,  not  the  Gift, 
Whence  the  joys  I  feel  proceed. 

But,  soon  humbled  and  laid  low, 
Stript  of  all  thou  hast  conferr'd, 

Nothing  left  but  sin  and  woe, 
I  perceived  how  I  had  err'd. 

Oh,  the  vain  conceit  of  man. 
Dreaming  of  a  good  his  own. 

Arrogating  all  he  can, 

Though  the  Lord  is  good  alone  I 

He  the  graces  thou  hast  wrought 
Makes  subservient  to  his  pride ; 

Ignorant  that  one  such  thought 
Passes  all  his  sin  beside. 

Such  his  folly — proved  at  last, 
By  the  loss  of  that  repose. 

Self-complacence  cannot  taste, 
Only  Love  Divine  bestows. 

'Tis  by  tliis  reproof  severe. 
And  by  this  reproof  alone, 

His  defects  at  last  appear, 

Man  is  to  himself  made  known. 

Learn,  all  Earth !  that  feeble  man. 
Sprung  from  this  terrestrial  clod. 

Nothing  is,  and  nothing  can ; 
Life  and  power  are  all  in  God. 


LOVE  INCREASED  BY  SUFFERING. 

''  I  LOVE  the  Lord,"  is  still  the  strain 
This  lieart  delights  to  sing  : 

But  I  reply — Your  thoughts  are  vain, 
Perhaps  'tis  no  such  thing. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  5Y9 

Before  the  power  of  Love  Divine 

Creation  fades  away ; 
Till  only  God  is  seen  to  shine 

In  all  that  we  survey. 

In  gulfs  of  awful  night  we  find 

The  God  of  our  desires  ; 
'Tis  there  lie  stamps  the  yielding  mind, 

And  doubles  all  its  fires. 

Flames  of  encircling  love  invest, 

And  pierce  it  sweetly  through ; 
'Tis  fill'd  with  sacred  joy,  yet  press'd 

With  sacred  sorrow  too. 

Ah  Love !  my  heart  is  in  the  rights 

Amidst  a  thousand  woes, 
To  thee,  its  ever  new  delight, 

And  all  its  peace  it  owes. 

Fresh  causes  of  distress  occur 

Where'er  I  look  or  move ; 
The  comforts  I  to  all  prefer 

Are  solitude  and  love. 

Nor  exile  I  nor  prison  fear ; 

Love  makes  my  courage  great ; 
I  find  a  Saviour  everywhere, 

His  grace  in  every  state. 

N"or  castle  walls,  nor  dungeons  deep, 

Exclude  His  quickening  beams ; 
There  I  can  sit,  and  sing,  and  weep, 

And  dwell  on  heavenly  themes. 

There  sorrow,  for  His  sake,  is  found 

A  joy  beyond  compare ; 
There  no  presumptuous  thoughts  abound 

No  pride  can  enter  there. 

A  Saviour  doubles  all  my  joys, 

And  sweetens  all  my  pains. 
His  strength  in  my  defence  employs, 

Consoles  me  and  sustains. 


580  cowper's  poetical  works. 

I  fear  no  ill,  resent  no  wrong ; 

Nor  feel  a  passion  move, 
When  malice  whets  her  slanderous  tongue; 

Such  patience  is  in  love. 


SCENES  FAVORABLE  TO  MEDITATION. 

"Wilds  horrid  and  dark  with  overshadowing  trees, 

Rocks  that  ivy  and  briers  enfold, 
Scenes  Nature  with  dread  and  astonishment  sees, 

But  I  with  a  pleasure  untold  : 

Though  awfully  silent,  and  shaggy,  and  rude, 
I  am  charmed  with  the  peace  ye  afford ; 

Your  shades  are  a  temple  where  none  will  intrude, 
The  abode  of  my  Lover  and  Lord. 

I  am  sick  of  thy  splendor,  O  Fountain  of  day  ! 

And  here  I  am  liid  from  its  beams ; 
Here  safely  contemplate  a  brighter  display 

Of  the  noblest  and  holiest  of  themes. 

Ye  Forests,  that  yield  me  my  sweetest  repose, 

Where  stillness  and  solitude  reign  I 
To  you  I  securely  and  boldly  disclose 

The  dear  anguish  of  which  I  complain. 

Here,  sweetly  forgetting,  and  wholly  f(:rgot 
By  the  world  and  its  turbulent  thrqng. 

The  birds  and  the  streams  lend  me  many  a  note 
That  aids  meditation  and  song. 

Here,  wandering  in  scenes  that  are  sacred  to  night, 
Love  wears  me  and  wastes  me  away ; 

And  often  the  sun  has  spent  much  of  his  light, 
Ere  yet  I  perceive  it  is  day. 

While  a  mantle  of  darkness  envelops  tlie  sphere, 

My  sorrows  are  sadly  rehearsed, 
To  me  the  dark  hours  are  all  equally  dear, 

And  the  last  is  as  sweet  as  the  first. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    GUION.  581 

Here  I  and  tlie  beasts  of  the  deserts  agree ; 

Mankind  are  the  wolves  that  I  fear ; 
They  grudge  me  my  natural  right  to  be  free, 

But  nobody  questions  it  here. 

Though  little  is  found  in  this  dreary  abode 

That  appetite  wishes  to  find, 
My  spirit  is  soothed  by  the  presence  of  God, 

And  appetite  wholly  resign'd. 

Ye  desolate  scenes,  to  3'our  solitude  led. 

My  life  I  in  praises  employ ! 
And  scarce  knoAv  the  source  of  the  tears  that  I  shed. 

Proceed  they  from  sorrow  or  joy. 

There's  nothing  I  seem  to  have  skill  to  discern, 

I  feel  out  my  way  in  the  dark ; 
Love  reigns  in  my  bosom,  I  constantly  bui'n. 

Yet  hardly  distinguish  the  spark. 

I  live,  yet  I  seem  to  myself  to  be  dead. 

Such  a  riddle  is  not  to  be  found ; 
I  am  nourish'd  without  knowing  how  I  am  fed, 

I  have  nothing,  and  yet  I  abound. 

O  Love !  who  in  darkness  art  pleased  to  abide, 

Though  dimly,  yet  surely  I  see 
That  these  contrarieties  only  reside 

In  the  soul  that  is  chosen  of  thee. 

Ah !  send  me  not  back  to  the  race  of  mankind. 

Perversely  by  folly  beguiled, 
For  where,  in  the  crowds  I  have  left,  shall  I  find 

The  spirit  and  heart  of  a  child  ? 

Here  let  me,  though  fix'd  in  a  desert,  be  free ; 

A  little  one  whom  they  despise. 
Though  lost  to  the  world,  if  in  union  with  Theo 

Shall  be  holy,  and  happy,  and  wise. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  YINCENT 
BOURNE. 


THE    GLOW-WORM. 

Beneath  the  hedge,  or  near  the  stream, 

A  worm  is  known  to  stray, 
That  shows  by  night  a  lucid  beam, 

Which  disappears  by  day. 

Disputes  have  been,  and  still  prevail. 
From  whence  his  rays  proceed ; 

Some  give  that  honor  to  his  tail, 
And  others  to  his  head. 

But  this  is  sure — the  hand  of  night 

That  kindles  up  the  skies, 
Gives  him  a  modicum  of  light, 

Proportion'd  to  his  size. 

Perhaps  indulgent  Nature  meant, 

By  such  a  lamp  bestowal. 
To  bid  the  traveller,  as  he  went, 

Be  careful  where  he  trod : 

Nor  crush  a  worm,  whose  useful  light 
Might  serve,  however  small, 

To  show  a  stumbling-stone  by  night, 
And  save  him  from  a  fall. 

Whate'er  she  meant,  this  truth  divine 

Is  legible  and  plain — 
'Tis  power  Almighty  bids  him  shine, 

Nor  bids  him  shine  in  vain. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  583 

Ye  proud  and  wealthy,  let  this  theme 

Teach  humbler  thouglits  to  you, 
Since  such  a  reptile  has  its  gem, 

And  boasts  its  splendor  too. 


THE  JACKDAW. 

There  is  a  bird,  who,  by  his  coat, 
And  by  the  hoarseness  of  his  note, 

Might  be  supposed  a  crow  ; 
A  great  frequenter  of  the  church. 
Where,  bishop-like,  he  finds  a  perch, 

And  dormitory  too. 

Above  the  steeple  shines  a  plate. 
That  turns  and  turns,  to  indicate 

From  what  point  blows  the  weather; 
Look  up — your  brains  begin  to  swim, 
'Tis  in  the  clouds — that  pleases  him. 

He  chooses  it  the  rather. 

Fond  of  the  speculative  height. 
Thither  he  wings  his  airy  flight. 

And  thence  securely  sees 
The  bustle  and  the  rareeshow. 
That  occupy  mankind  below. 

Secure  and  at  his  ease. 

You  think,  no  doubt,  he  sits  and  muses 
On  future  broken  bones  and  bruises, 

If  he  should  chance  to  fall ; 
No,  not  a  single  thought  like  that 
Employs  his  philosophic  pate, 

Or  troubles  it  at  all. 

He  sees  that  this  great  roundabout. 
The  world,  with  all  its  motley  rout, 

Church,  army,  physic,  law, 
Its  customs  and  its  businesses, 
Are  no  concern  at  all  of  his, 

And  says — wliat  says  he  ? — Caw. 

Thrice  happy  bird  !  I  too  have  seen 
Much  of  the  vanities  of  men ; 


584  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And,  sick  of  having  seen  'em, 
Would  cheerfully  tliese  limbs  resign 
For  such  a  pair  of  wings  as  thine, 

And  such  a  head  between  'em. 


THE  CEICKET. 

Little  inmate,  full  of  mirth, 
Chirping  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe'er  be  thine  abode. 
Always  harbinger  of  good — 
Pay  me  for  thy  warm  retreat 
AVitli  a  song  more  soft  and  sweet ; 
In  return  thou  shalt  receive 
Such  a  strain  as  I  can  give. 

Thus  thy  praise  shall  be  exprest. 
Inoffensive,  welcome  guest! 
While  the  rat  is  on  the  scout, 
And  the  mouse  with  curious  snout, 
With  what  vermin  else  infest 
Every  dish,  and  spoil  the  best ; 
Frisking  thus  before  the  fire. 
Thou  hast  all  thine  heart's  desire. 

Though  in  voice  and  shape  they  be 
Form'd  as  if  akin  to  thee. 
Thou  surpassest,  happier  far, 
Happiest  grasshoppers  that  are ; 
Theirs  is  but  a  summer''s  song. 
Thine  endures  the  winter  long, 
Unimpair'd,  and  shrill,  and  clear, 
Melody  throughout  the  year. 

Neither  night  nor  dawn  of  day 
Puts  a  period  to  thy  play : 
Sing,  then — and  extend  thy  span 
Far  beyond  the  date  of  man  ; 
AYretched  man,  whose  years  are  spent 
In  repining  discontent, 
Lives  not,  aged  though  he  be, 
Half  a  span,  compared  with  thee. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  585 


THE  PARROT. 

In  painted  plumes  superbly  drest, 
A  native  of  tlie  gorgeous  east, 

By  many  a  billow  toss'd  ; 
Poll  gains  at  length  the  British  shore, 
Part  of  the  captain's  precious  store, 

A  present  to  his  toast. 

Belinda's  maids  are  soon  preferr'd, 
To  teach  liim  now  and  then  a  word, 

As  Poll  can  master.it ; 
But  'tis  her  own  important  charge, 
To  quahfy  him  more  at  large, 

And  make  him  quite  a  wit. 

Sweet  Poll !  his  doting  mistress  cries, 
Sweet  Poll !  the  mimic  bird  replies. 

And  calls  aloud  for  sack  : 
She  next  instructs  Inm  in  the  kiss ; 
'Tis  now  a  little  one,  like  Miss, 

And  now  a  hearty  smack. 

At  first  he  aims  at  what  he  hears, 
And,  listening  close  with  botli  his  ears, 

Just  catclies  at  the  sound  ; 
But  soon  articulates  aloud, 
Much  to  the  amusement  of  the  crowd, 

And  stuns  the  neighbors  round. 

A  querulous  old  woman's  voice 
His  hutnorous  talent  next  employs, 

He  scolds,  and  gives  the  lie. 
And  now  he  sings,  and  now  is  sick — 
Here,  Sally !  Susan  !  come,  come  quick ! 

Poor  Poll  is  like  to  die ! 

Belinda  and  her  bird !  'tis  rare 

To  meet  with  such  a  well-match'd  pair, 

The  language  and  the  tone. 
Each  character  in  every  part 
Sustain'd  with  so  much  grace  and  art, 

And  both  in  unsion. 


586  cowper's  poetical  works. 

When  children  first  begin  to  spell, 
And  stammer  out  a  syllable, 

We  think  them  tedious  creatures  : 
But  difficulties  soon  abate. 
When  birds  are  to  be  taught  to  prat^, 

And  women  are  the  teachers. 


THE  THRACIAN. 

Theacian  parents,  at  his  birth. 

Mourn  their  babe  witli  many  a  tear. 

But  with  undissembled  mirth 
Place  him  breathless  on  his  bier. 

Greece  and  Rome,  with  equal  scorn, 
''  O  the  savages  !"  exclaim, 

^'  Whether  they  rejoice  or  mourn. 
Well  entitled  to  the  name  !" 

But  the  cause  of  this  concern 

And  tliis  pleasure  would  they  trace, 

Even  they  might  somewhat  learn 
Erom  the  savages  of  Thrace. 


RECIPROCAL  KINDNESS  THE  PRIMARY  LAW  OF 
NATURE. 

Andeocles,  from  his  injured  lord,  in  dread 

Of  instant  death,  to  Lybia's  dearest  ^fled; 

Tired  with  his  toilsome  flight,  and  parch'd  with  heat. 

He  spied  at  length  a  cavern's  cool  retreat ; 

But  scarce  had  given  to  rest  his  weary  frame, 

When,  hugest  of  his  kind,  a  lion  came  : 

He  roar'd  approaching:  but  the  savage  din 

To  plaintive  murmurs  changed — arrived  withm, 

And  with  expressive  looks,  his  lifted  paw 

Presenting,  aid  implored  from  whom  he  saw. 

The  fugitive,  through  terror  at  a  stand. 

Dared  not  awhile  afford  his  trembling  hand ; 

But  bolder  grown,  at  length  inherent  found 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  587 

A  pointed  thorn,  and  drew  it  from  tlie  wound. 
The  cure  was  wrought;  he  wiped  tlie  sanious  blood, 
And  firm  and  free  from  pain  the  lion  stood. 
Again  he  seeks  the  wilds,  and  day  by  day 
Kegales  his  inmate  with  the  parted  prey. 
Nor  he  disdains  the  dole,  though  unprepared, 
Spread  on  the  ground,  and  with  a  lion  shared. 
But  thus  to  live — still  lost — sequester'd  still — 
Scarce  seem'd  his  lord's  revenge  a  heavier  ill. 
Home!  native  home!  oh  might  he  but  repair! 
He  must — he  will,  though  death  attends  him  there. 
He  goes,  and  doom'd  to  perish  on  the  sands 
Of  the  full  theatre  unpitied  stands : 
When  lo !  the  self-same  lion  from  his  cage 
Flies  to  devour  him,  famisli'd  into  rage. 
He  flies,  but  viewing  in  his  purposed  prey 
The  man,  his  healer,  pauses  on  his  way ; 
And,  soften'd  by  remembrance  into  sw^eet 
And  kind  composure,  crouches  at  his  feet. 

Mute  Avith  astonishment,  the  assembly  gaze : 
But  why,  ye  Komans?    Whence  your  mute  amaze? 
All  this  is  natural :  IsTature  bade  him  rend 
An  enemy ;  she  bids  him  spare  a  friend. 


A  MANUAL, 

MORE    ANCIENT   THAN    THE   ART    OF   PRINTING,    AND    NOT   TO    BE 
FOUND    IN    ANY   CATALOGUE. 

There  is  a  book,  which  w^e  may  call 

(Its  excellence  is  such) 
Alone  a  library,  though  small ; 

The  ladies  thumb  it  much. 

AYords  none,  things  numerous  it  contains; 

And  things  witli  words  compared. 
Who  needs  be  told,  that  has  his  brains, 

Which  merits  most  regard  ? 

Ofttimes  its  leaves  of  scarlet  hue 

A  golden  edging  boast ; 
And  open'd,  it  displays  to  view 

Twelve  pages  at  the  most. 


588  cowper's  poetical  works. 

E'er  name,  nor  title,  stamp'd  behind, 

Adorns  its  outer  part ; 
But  all  within  'tis  richly  lined, 

A  magazine  of  art. 

The  whitest  hands  that  secret  hoard 

Oft  visit :  and  the  fair 
Preserve  it  in  their  bosoms  stored, 

As  with  a  miser's  care. 

Thence  implements  of  every  size, 
And  form'd  for  various  use 

(They  need  but  to  consult"  their  eyes). 
They  readily  produce. 

The  largest  and  the  longest  kind 
Possess  the  foremost  page ; 

A  sort  most  needed  by  the  blind, 
Or  nearly  such,  from  age. 

The  full-charged  leaf  which  next  ensues, 

Presents  in  bright  array 
The  smaller  sort,  which  matrons  use, 

Not  quite  so  bhnd  as  they. 

The  third,  the  fourth,  the  fifth  supply 

What  their  occasions  ask, 
"Who  with  a  more  discerning  eye 

Perform  a  nicer  task. 

But  still  with  regular  decrease, 
From  size  to  size  they  fall, 

In  every  leaf  grow  less  and  less ; 
The  last  are  least  of  all. 

Oil !  what  a  fund  of  genius,  pent 

In  narrow  space,  is  here ! 
This  volume's  method  and  intent 

How  luminous  and  clear ! 

It  leaves  no  reader  at  a  loss 
Or  posed,  whoever  reads : 

No  commentator's  tedious  gloss. 
Nor  even  index  needs. 

Search  Bodley's  many  thousands  o'er! 
No  book  is  treasured  there. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  589 

!N'or  yet  in  Granta's  numerous  store, 
That  may  with  this  compare. 

No! — rival  none  in  either  host 

Of  this'  was  ever  seen, 
Or,  that  contents  could  justly  boast, 

So  brilliant  and  so  keen. 


.    AN  ENIGMA. 

A  NEEDLE,  small  as  small  can  be, 
In  bulk  and  use  surpasses  me, 

Nor  is  my  purchase  dear'; 
For  little,  and  almost  for  naug?it. 
As  many  of  my  kind  are  bought 

As  days  are  in  the  year. 

Yet  though  but  little  use  we  boast. 
And  are  procured  at  little  cost, 

The  labor  is  not  light ; 
Nor  few  artificers  it  asks. 
All  skilful  in  their  several  tasks. 

To  fashion  us  aright. 

One  fuses  metal  o'er  the  fire, 
A  second  draws  it  into  wire. 

The  shears  another  plies  : 
Who  clips  in  length  the  brazen  thread 
From  him  who,  chafing  every  shred. 

Gives  all  an  equal  size. 

A  fifth  prepares,  exact  and  round, 

The  knob  with  which  it  must  be  crown'd ; 

His  follower  makes  it  fast : 
And  with  his  mallet  and  his  file 
To  shape  the  point,  employs  awhile 

The  seventh  and  the  last. 

Now,  therefore,  (Edipus !  declare 
What  creature,  wonderful,  and  raire, 

A  process  that  obtains 
Its  purpose  with  so  much  ado 
At  last  produces ! — tell  me  true. 

And  take  me  for  your  pains ! 
50 


590  cowper's  poetical  works. 

SPARROWS  SELF-DOMESTICATED  IN  TRINITY 
COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 

KoNE  ever  shared  tlie  social  feast, 
Or  as  an  inmate  or  a  guest, 
Beneath  the  celebrated  dome 
Where  once  Sir  Isaac  had  his  home, 
Who  saw  not  (and  with  some  delight 
Perhaps  he  view'd  the  novel  sight) 
How  numerous,  at  the  tables  there, 
The  sparrows  beg  their  daily  fare. 
For  there,  in  every  nook  and  cell 
Where  such  a  family  may  dwell. 
Sure  as  the  vernal  season  comes, 
Their  nest  they  weave  in  hope  of  crumbs, 
Which  kindly  given,  may  serve  with  food 
Convenient  their  unfeather'd  brood ; 
And  oft  as  with  its  summons  clear 
The  warning  bell  salutes  their  ear. 
Sagacious  listeners  to  the  sound. 
They  flock  from  all  the  fields  around ; 
To  reach  the  hospitable  hall, 
None  more  attentive  to  the  call. 
Arrived,  the  pensionary  band. 
Hopping  and  chirping,  close  at  hand. 
Solicit  what  they  soon  receive — 
The  sprinkled,  plenteous  donative. 
Thus  is  a  multitude,  though  large. 
Supported  at  a  trivial  charge ; 
A  single  doit  would  overpay 
The  expenditure  of  every  day ; 
And  who  can  grudge  so  small  a  grace 
To  suppliants,  natives  of  the  place  ? 


FAMILIARITY  DANGEROUS. 

As  in  her  ancient  mistress'  lap 
The  youthful  tabby  la}^. 

They  gave  each  other  many  a  tap. 
Alike  disposed  to  play. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  591 

But  strife  ensues.     Puss  waxes  warm, 

And  with  protruded  claws 
Ploughs  all  the  length  of  Lydia's  arm, 

Mere  wantonness  the  cause. 

At  once,  resentful  of  the  deed, 

She  shakes  her  to  the  ground, 
With  many  a  threat  that  she  shall  bleed 

With  still  a  deeper  wound.  * 

But,  Lydia,  bid  thy  fury  rest : 

It  was  a  venial  stroke : 
For  she  that  will  with  kittens  jest 

Should  bear  a  kitten's  joke. 


INVITATION  TO  THE  REDBREAST. 

Sweet  bird,  whom  the  winter  constrains — 

And  seldom  another  it  can — 
■  To  seek  a  retreat  while  he  reigns 

In  the  well-shelter'd  dwellings  of  man ; 
Who  never  can  seem  to  intrude. 

Though  in  all  places  equally  free. 
Come  oft  as  the  season  is  rude. 

Thou  art  sure  to  be  welcome  to  me. 

At  sight  of  the  first  feeble  ray 

That  pierces  the  clouds  of  the  east, 
To  inveigle  thee  every  day 

My  windows  shall  show  thee  a  feast? 
For,  taught  by  experience,  I  know. 

Thee  mindful  of  benefit  long. 
And  that,  thankful  for  all  I  bestow. 

Thou  wilt  pay  me  with  many  a  song- 
Then,  soon  as  the  swell  of  the  buds 

Bespeaks  the  renewal  of  spring. 
Fly  hence,  if  thou  wilt,  to  the  woods. 

Or  where  it  shall  please  thee  to  eing : 
And  shouldst  thou,  compell'd  by  a  frost, 

Come  again  to  my  window  or  door, 
Doubt  not  an  aifectionate  host, 

Only  pay  as  thou  paidst  me  before. 


592  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

This  music  must  needs  be  confess'd 
To  flow  from  a  fountain  above ; 

Else  how  should  it  work  in  the  breast 
IJnchangeable  friendship  and  love? 

And  who  on  the  globe  can  be  found, 
Save  jour  generation  and  ours, 

That  can  be  delighted  by  sound, 
^  Or  boasts  any  musical  powers  ? 


STEAD  A' S  NIGHTINGALE.  > 

The  shepherd  touch'd  his  reed ;  sweet  Philomel 
Essay'd,  and  oft  essayVl,  to  catch  the  strain, 

And  treasuring,  as  on  her  ear  they  fell, 
The  numbers,  echo'd  note  for  note  again. 

The  peevish  youth,  who  ne'er  had  found  before 
A  rival  of  his  skill,  indignant  heard. 

And  soon  (for  various  was  his  tuneful  store) 
In  loftier  tones  defied  the  simple  bird. 

She  dared  the  task,  and,  rising  as  he  rose, 
"With  all  the  force  that  passion  gives  inspired, 

Keturn'd  the  sounds  awhile,  but  in  the  close 
Exhausted  fell,  and  at  his  feet  expired. 

Thus  strength,  not  skill,  prevailed.    Oh  fatal  strife, 
By  thee,  poor  songstress,  playfully  begun ! 

And,  oh,  sad  victory,  which  cost  thy  life. 
And  he  may  wish  that  he  had  never  won ! 


ODE  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LADY, 

"WHO  LIVED  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS,  AND  DIED  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY,  1723. 

AxciEXT  dame,  liow  wide  and  vast 

To  a  race  like  ours  appears. 
Rounded  to  an  orb  at  last, 

All  thy  multitude  of  years ! 

1  John  Ford  has  beautifully  versified  the  same  story  in  his  "Lovers 
Melancholy." 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM   VINCENT   BOURNE.  593 

We,  the  herd  of  human  kind, 

Frailer  and  of  feebler  powers ; 
We,  to  narrow  bounds  confined, 

Soon  exhaust  the  sum  of  ours. 

Death's  delicious  banquet — we 

Perish  even  from  the  womb, 
Swifter  than  a  shadow  flee, 

Nourished  but  to  feed  the  tomb. 

Seeds  of  merciless  disease 

Lurk  in  all  that  we  enjoy; 
Some  that  waste  us  by  degrees, 

Some  that  suddenly  destroy. 

And,  if  life  o'erleap  the  bourn 

Common  to  the  sons  of  men. 
What  remains,  but  that  we  mourn, 

Dream,  and  dote,  and  drivel  then! 

Fast  as  moons  can  wax  and  wane 
Sorrow  comes  ;  and,  while  we  groan, 

Pant  with  anguish,  and  complain. 
Half  our  years  are  fled  and  gone. 

If  a  few  (to  few  'tis  given). 

Lingering  on  this  earthly  stage, 
Creep  and  halt  with  steps  uneven 

To  the  period  of  an  age ; 

Wherefore  live  they,  but  to  see 

Cunning,  arrogance,  and  force, 
Sights  lamented  much  by  thee. 

Holding  their  accustom'd  course  ? 

Oft  was  seen,  in  ages  past. 

All  that  we  with  wonder  view ; 
Often  shall  be  to  the  last ; 

Earth  produces  nothing  new. 

Thee  we  gratulate,  content 

Should  propitious  Heaven  design 

Life  for  us  as  calmly  spent, 

Though  but  half  the  length  of  thine. 


694  cowper's  poetical  works. 


THE  CAUSE  WON. 

Two  neighbors  furiously  dispute ; 

A  field — the  subject  of  the  suit. 

Trivial  the  spot,  yet  such  the  rage 

"With  which  the  combatants  engage, 

'Twere  hard  to  tell  who  covets  most 

The  prize — at  whatsoever  cost 

The  pleadings  swell.    Words  still  suffice : 

No  single  word  but  has  its  price. 

'No  term  but  yields  some  fair  pretence 

For  novel  and  increased  expense. 

Defendant  thus  becomes  a  name, 
Which  he  that  bore  it  may  disclaim ; 
Since  both,  in  one  description  blended, 
Are  plaintiffs — when  the  suit  is  ended. 


THE  SILKWORM. 

The  beams  of  April,  ere  it  goes, 
A  worm,  scarce  visible,  disclose ; 
All  winter  long  content  to  dwell 
The  tenant  of  his  native  shell. 
The  same  prolific  season^gives 
The  sustenance  by  whicli  he  lives, 
The  mulberry  leaf,  a  simple  store, 
.  That  serves  him — till  he  needs  no  more ! 
For,  his  dimensions,  once  complete. 
Thenceforth  none  ever  sees  him  eat ; 
Though  till  his  growing  time  be  past 
Scarce  ever  is  he  seen  to  fast. 
That  hour  arrived,  his  work  begins : 
He  spins  and  weaves,  and  weaves  and  spins ; 
Till  circle  upon  circle,  wound 
Careless  around  him  and  around. 
Conceals  him  with  a  veil,  though  slight, 
Impervious  to  the  keenest  sight. 
Thus  self-inclosed,  as  in  a  cask, 
At  length  he  finishes  his  task ; 
And,  though  a  worm  when  he  was  lost, 
Or  caterpillar  at  the  most. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  595 

When  next  we  see  him,  wings  he  wears, 
And  in  papilio  pomp  appears ; 
Becomes  oviparous ;  supplies 
With  future  worms  and  future  flies 
The  next  ensuing  year — and  dies ! 
Well  were  it  for  the  world,  if  all 
Who  creep  about  this  earthly  hall. 
Though  shorter  lived  than  most  he  be, 
Were  useful  in  their  kind  as  he. 


THE  INNOCENT  THIEF. 

NToT  a  flower  can  be  found  in  the  fields, 
Or  the  spot  that  we  till  for  our  pleasure, 

From  the  largest  to  the  least,  but  it  yields 
The  bee,  never  wearied,  a  treasure. 

Scarce  any  she  quits  unexplored. 

With  a  diligence  truly  exact ; 
Yet,  steal  what  she  may  for  her  hoard, 

Leaves  evidence  none  of  the  fact. 

Her  lucrative  task  she  pursues, 
And  pilfers  with  so  much  address, 

That  none  of  their  odor  they  lose, 
Nor  charm  by  their  beauty  the  less. 

Not  thus  inoffensively  preys 

The  cankerworm,  indwelling  foe ! 

His  voracity  not  thus  allays 

The  sparrow,  the  finch,  or  the  crow. 

The  worm,  more  expensively  fed. 
The  pride  of  the  garden  devours ; 

And  birds  peck  the  seed  from  the  bed. 
Still  less  to  be  spared  than  the  flowers. 

But  she  with  such  delicate  skill 

Her  pillage  so  fits  for  her  use. 
That  the  chemist  in  vain  with  his  still 

Would  labor  the  like  to  pi?oiiic5^? •-":::•- .. 


|UirX7BRSITr)] 


596  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Then  grudge  not  her  temperate  meals, 
Nor  a  benefit  blame  as  a  theft; 

Since,  stole  she  not  all  that  she  steals, 
Neither  honey  nor  wax  avouIcI  be  left. 


DENNER'S  OLD  WOMAN. 

In  this  mimic  form  of  a  matron  in  years, 

How  plainly  the  pencil  of  Denner  appears ! 

The  matron  herself,  in  whose  old  age  we  see 

Not  a  trace  of  decline,  what  a  wonder  is  she ! 

No  dimness  of  eye,  and  no  cheek  hanging  low. 

No  wrinkle,  or  deep-furroAv'd  frown  on  the  brow 

Her  forehead  indeed  is  here  circled  around 

With  locks  like  tlie  ribbon  with  which  they  are  bound,* 

While  glossy  and  smooth,  and  as  soft  as  the  skin 

Of  a  delicate  peach,  is  the  down  of  her  chin ; 

But  nothing  unpleasant,  or  sad,  or  severe. 

Or  that  indicates  life  in  its  winter — is  here. 

Yet  all  is  express'd  with  fidelity  due. 

Nor  a  pimple  or  freckle  conceal'd  from  the  view. 

Many  fond  of  new  sights,  or  who  cherish  a  taste 
For  the  labors  of  Art,  to  the  spectacle  haste. 
The  youths  all  agree,  that,  could  old  age  inspire 
The  passion  of  love,  hers  would  kindle  the  fire ; 
And  the  matrons  with  pleasure  confess  that  they  see 
Ridiculous  nothing  or  hideous  in  thee. 
The  nymphs  for  themselves  scarcely  hope  a  decline, 
O  wonderful  woman !  as  placid  as  thine. 

Strange  magic  of  Arti  which  the  youth  can  engage 
To  peruse,  half  enamor'd,  the  features  of  age ; 
And  force  from  the  virgin  a  sigh  of  despair, 
That  she  when  as  old  shall  be  equally  fair ! 
How  great  is  the  glory  that  Denner  has  gain'd, 
Since  Apelles  not  more  for  his  Venus  obtained ! 


THE  TEARS  OF  A  PAINTER. 

Apelles,  hearing  that  his  boy 
Had  just  expired — his  only  joy ! 
Although  the  sight  with  anguish  tore  him, 
Bade  place  his  dear  remains  before  him. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  507 

He  seized  his  brush,  his  colors  spread ; 
And — ''  O  my  child,  accept," — he  said 
"  ('Tis  all  that  I  can  now  bestow). 
This  tribute  of  a  father's  woe !" 
Then,  faithful  to  the  twofold  part, 
Both  of  his  feehngs  and  his  art, 
He  closed  his  eyes  with  tender 'care, 
And  form'd  at  once  a  fellow  i)air. 
His  brow  with  amber  locks  beset, 
And  lips  he  drew  not  livid  yet ; 
And  shaded  all  that  he  had  done 
To  a  just  image  of  his  son. 

Thus  far  is  well.     But  view  again 
The  cause  of  thy  paternal  pain ! 
Thy  melancholy  task  fulfil ! 
It  needs  the  last,  last  touches  still. 
Again  his  pencil's  powers  he  tries. 
For  on  his  hps  a  smile  he  spies : 
And  still  his  cheek  unfaded  shows 
The  deepest  damask  of  the  rose. 
Then,  heedful  to  the.finish'd  whole, 
With  fondest  eagerness  he  stole. 
Till  scarce  himself  distinctly  knew 
The  cherub  copied  from  the  true. 

1^0 w,  painter,  cease !     Thy  task  is  done. 
Long  lives  this  image  of  thy  son ; 
Nor  short-lived  shall  the  glory  prove 
Or  of  thy  labor  or  thy  love. 


.  THE  MAZE. 

From  right  to  left,  and  to  and  fro, 
Caught  in  a  labyrinth  you  go. 
And  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  again. 
To  solve  the  mystery,  but  in  vain ; 
Stand  still,  and  breathe,  and  take  from  me 
A  clue,  that  soon  shall  set  you  free! 
Not  Ariadne,  if  you  met  her. 
Herself  could  serve  you  with  a  better. 
You  enter'd  easily — find  where — 
And  make  with  ease  your  exit  there ! 


598  cowper's  poetical  works. 

NO  SORROW  PECULIAR  TO  THE  SUFFERER. 

The  lover,  in  melodious  verses, 
His  singular  distress  rehearses ; 
Still  closing  with  a  rueful  cry, 
''Was  ever  such  a  wretch  as  I!" 
Yes !  thousands  have  endured  before 
All  thy  distress  ;  some,  haply,  more. 
Unnumher'd  Corydons  complain. 
And  Strephons,  of  the  like  disdain ; 
And  if  thy  Chloe  be  of  steel. 
Too  deaf  to  hear,  too  hard  to  feel, 
ISTot  her  alone  that  censure  fits, 
Nor  thou  alone  hast  lost  thy  wits. 


THE  SNAIL. 

To  grass,  or  leaf,  or  fruit,  or  wall. 
The  snail  sticks  close,  nor  fears  to  fall, 
As  if  he  grew  there,  house  and  all 

Together. 

Within  that  house  secure  he  hides, 
When  danger  imminent  betides 
Of  storm,  or  other  harm  besides 

Of  weather. 

Give  but  his  horns  the  slightest  to^ch, 

His  self-collecting  power  is  such. 

He  shrinks  into  his  house,  with  much 

Displeasure. 
Where'er  he  dwells,  he  dwells  alone ; 
Except  himself,  has  chattels. none. 
Well  satisfied  to  be  his  own 

Whole  treasure. 

Thus,  hermit-like,  his  life  he  leads, 
Nor  partner  of  his  banquet  needs, 
And  if  he  meets  one,  only  feeds 

The  faster. 

Who  seeks  him  must  be  worse  than  blind 
(He  and  his  house  are  so  combined). 
If,  finding  it,  he  fails  to  find 

Its  master. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VINCENT    BOURNE.  599 


THE  CANTAB. 

With  two  spurs  or  one,  and  no  great  matter  wliicli, 
Boots  bought,  or  boots  borrow'd,  a  whip  or  a  switch, 
Five  shiUings  or  less  for  the  hire  of  his  beast, 
Paid  part  into  hand ; — you  must  wait  for  the  rest. 
Thus  equipt,  Academicus  climbs  up  his  horse, 
And  out  they  both  sally  for  better  or  worse ; 
His  heart  void  of  fear,  and  as  light  as  a  feather ; 
And  in  violent  haste  to  go  n^t  knowing  whither  : 
Through  the  fields  and  the  towns ;  (see !)  he  scampers  along, 
And  is  look'd  at  and  laugli'd  at  by  old  and  by  young, 
Till,  at  length  overspent,  and  his  sides  smear'd  witli  blood, 
Down  tumbles  his  horse,  man  and  all,  in  tlie  mud. 
In  a  wagon  or  chaise  shall  he  finish  his  route  ? 
Oh !  scandalous  fate !  he  must  do  it  on  foot. 

Young  gentlemen,  hear ! — I  am  older  than  you , 
The  advice  that  I  give  I  have  proved  to  be  true ; 
"Wherever  your  journey  may  be,  never  doubt  it, 
The  faster  you  ride,  you're  the  longer  about  it. 


TRANSLATIONS 

OF   THE 

LATIN  AND  ITALIAN  POEMS  OF  MILTON. 


ELEGY  I. 

TO  CHARLES  DEODATL 

At  length,  m}^  friend,  tlie  far-sent  letters  come- 
Charged  witli  thy  kindness,  to  their  destined  home; 
They  come,  at  length,  from  Deva's  Western  side, 
Where  prone  she  seeks  the  salt  Vergivian  tide. 
Trust  me,  my  joy  is  great  that  thou  shouldst  he, 
Though  born  of  foreign  race,  yet  born  for  me  ; 
And  that  my  sprightly  friend,  now  free  to  roam, 
Must  seek  again  so  soon  his  wonted  home. 
I  well  content,  where  Thames  with  influent  tide 
My  native  city  laves,  meantime  reside: 
Kor  zeal  nor  duty  now  my  steps  impel 
To  reedy  Cam,  and  my  forbidden  cell ; 
E"or  aught  of  pleasure  in  those  fields  have  I, 
That  to  the  musing  bard  all  shade  deny. 
'Tis  time  that  I  a  pedant's  threats  disdain. 
And  fly  from  wrongs  my  soul  will  ne'er  sustain. 
If  peaceful  days,  in  letter'd  leisure  spent 
Beneath  my  father's  roof,  be  banishment, 
Then  call  me  banish'd,  I  will  ne'er  refuse 
A  name  expressive  of  the  lot  I  choose. 
I  would  that,  exiled  to  the  Pontic  shore, 
Rome's  hapless  bard  had  sufler'd  nothing  more, 
He  then  had  equall'd  even  Homer's  lays, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  601 

And,  Virgil !  thou  hadst  won  but  second  praise. 
For  here  I  woo  the  Muse,  with  no  control, 
And  here  my  books — my  life — absorb  me  whole. 
Here  too  I  visit,  or  to  smile  or  weep, 
The  winding  theatre's  majestic  sweep  : 
Tlie  grave  or  gay  colloquial  scene  recruits 
My  spirits,  spent  in  learning's  long  pursuits  ; 
Whether  some  senior  shrewd,  or  spendthrift  heir,- 
Suitor,  or  soldier,  now  unarm'd,  be  there ; 
Or  some  coif 'd  brooder  o'er  a  ten  years'  cause, 
Thunder  the  Norman  gibberish  of  the  laws. 
The  lacquey  there  oft  dupes  the  wary  sire, 
And,  artful,  speeds  the  enamor'd  son's  desire. 
Tliere  virgins  oft,  unconscious  what  they  prove, 
What  love  is  know  not,  yet,  unknowing,  love. 
Or,  if  impassion'd  Tragedy  wield  high 
Tlie  bloody  sceptre,  give  her  locks  to  fl}", 
Wild  as  the  winds,  and  roll  her  haggard  eye — 
I  gaze,  and  grieve,  still  cherishing  my  grief. 
At  times,  even  bitter  tears  yield  sweet  relief: 
As,  when  from  bliss  untasted  torn  away, 
Some  youth  dies,  hapless,  on  his  bridal  day ; 
Or  when  the  ghost,  sent  back  from  shades  below, 
Fills  the  assassin's  heart  with  vengeful  woe ; 
When  Troy,  or  Argos,  the  dire  scene  affords. 
Or  Creon's  hall  laments  its  guilty  lords. 
Nor  always  city-pent,  or  pent  at  home, 
I  dwell ;  but,  Avhen  spring  calls  me  forth  to  roam, 
Expatiate  in  our  proud  suburban  shades 
Of  branching  elm  that  never  sun  pervades. 
Here  many  a  virgin  troop  I  may  descry, 
Like  stars  of  mildest  influence,  ghding  by. 
Oh,  forms  divine!  oh,  looks  that  might  inspire 
Even  Jove  himself,  grown  old,  with  young  desire 
Oft  have  I  gazed  on  gem-surpassing  eyes. 
Out-sparkling  every  star  that  gilds  the  skies; 
Necks  whiter  than  the  ivory  arm  bestow 'd 
By  Jove  on  Pelops,  or  the  Milky  Koad ! 
Bright  locks,  Love's  golden  snare !  these  falling  low. 
Those  playing  wanton  o'er  the  graceful  brow ! 
Cheeks  too,  more  winning  sweet  than  after  shower 
Adonis  turn'd  to  Flora's  favorite  flower ! 
Yield,  heroines,  yield,  and  ye  who  shared  the  embrace 
51 


602  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Of  Jupiter  in  ancient  times,  give  place ! 
Give  place,  ye  turban'd  fair  of  Persia's  coast ! 
And  ye,  not  less  renown'd,  Assyria's  boast! 
Submit,  ye  nymphs  of  Greece !  ye,  once  the  bloom 
Of  Hi  on !  and  all  ye,  of  haughty  Rome, 
"Who  swept,  of  old,  her  theatres  with  trains 
Redundant,  and  still  live  in  classic  strains ! 
To  British  damsels  beauty's  palm  is  due ; 
Aliens !  to  follow  them  is  fame  for  you. 

0  city,  founded  by  Dardanian  hands, 

Whose  toAvering  front  the  circling  realm  commands, 
Too  blest  abode !  no  loveliness  we  see 
In  all  the  earth,  but  it  abounds  in  thee. 
The  virgin  multitude  that  daily  meets. 
Radiant  with  gold  and  beauty,  in  thy  streets, 
Outnumbers  all  her  train  of  starry  fires 
With  which  Diana  gilds  thy  lofty  spires. 
Fame  says  that,  wafted  hither  by  her  doves, 
With  all  her  host  of  quiver-bearing  loves, . 
Venus,  preferring  Paphian  scenes  no  more. 
Has  fix'd  her  empire  on  thy  nobler  shore. 
But,  lest  the  sightless  boy  enforce  my  stay, 

1  leave  these  happy  walls,  while  yet  I  may. 
Immortal  Moly  shall  secure  my  heart 
Prom  all  the  sorcery  of  Circsean  art ; 
And  I  will  even  repass  Cam's  reedy  pools. 
To  face  once  more  the  warfare  of  the  schools. 
Meantime  accept  this  trifle !  rhymes  though  few, 
Yet  such  as  prove  thy  friend's  remembrance  true ! 


ELEGY  II. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  BEADLE  AT 
CAMBRIDGE. 

Thee,  whose  refulgent  staif  and  summons  clear 
Minerva's  flock  long  time  was  wont  to  obey. 

Although  thyself  a  herald,  famous  here, 

The  last  of  heralds.  Death,  has  snatch'd  away. 

He  calls  on  all  alike,  nor  even  deigns 

To  sjmre  the  oflice  that  himself  sustains. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  603 

Thy  locks  were  winter  than  tlie  phnnes  display'd 

By  Leda's  paramour  in  ancient  time ; 
But  thou  wast  wortliy  ne'er  to  have  decayM, 

Or,  ^son-Hke,  to  know  a  second  prime, 
"Worthy,  for  whom  some  goddess  should  have  won 
New  life,  oft  kneeling  to  Apollo's  son. 

Commissioned  to  convene  with  hasty  call 

The  gowned  tribes,  how  graceful  wouldst  thou  stand ! 
So  stood  Cyllenius  erst  in  Priam's  hall, 

Wing-footed  messenger  of  Jove's  command! 
And  so  Eurybates,  when  he  address'd 
To  Peleus'  son,  Atrides'  proud  behest. 

Dread  Queen  of  Sepulchres !  w^hose  rigorous  laws 
And  watchful  eyes  run  through  the  realms  below, 

Oh,  oft  too  adverse  to  Minerva's  cause ! 
Too  often  to  the  Muse  not  less  a  foe ! 

Choose  meaner  marks,  and  with  more  equal  aim 

Pierce  useless  drones,  earth's  burden  and  its  shame ! 

Plow,  therefore,  tears  for  him  from  every  eye, 

All  ye  disciples  of  the  Muses,  weep ! 
Assembling  all  in  robes  of  sable  dye. 

Around  his  bier  lament  his  endless  sleep ! 
And  let  complaining  Elegy  rehearse 
In  every  school  her  sweetest,  saddest  verse. 


ELEGY  IIL 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  WINCHESTER. 

Silent  I  sat,  dejected  and  alone. 

Making,  in  thought,  the  public  woes  my  own. 

When  first  arose  the  image  in  my  breast 

Of  England's  suifering  by  that  scourge,  the  Pest! 

How  Death,  his  funeral  torch  and  scythe  in  hand, 

Entering  the  lordliest  mansions  of  the  land. 

Has  laid  the  gem-illumined  palace  low. 

And  levell'd  tribes  of  nobles  at  a  blow. 

I  next  deplored  the  famed  paternal  pair. 

Too  soon  to  ashes  turn'd  and  empty  air ! 

The  heroes  next,  whom,  snatch'd  into  the  skies, 

All  Belgia  saw,  and  follow'd  with  her  sighs ; 


604  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But  thee  far  most  I  mournM,  regretted  most, 

"Winton's  cliief  shepherd,  and  her  worthiest  boast  I 

Pourd  out  in  tears  I  thus  complaining  said : 

"  Death,  next  in  power  to  Him  who  rules  the  dead ! 

Is  it  not  enough  that  all  the  woodlands  yield 

To  thy  fell  force,  and  every  verdant  field  ; 

•That  lilies,  at  one  noisome  blast  of  thine. 

And  even  the  Cyprian  Queen's  own  roses  pine ; 

That  oaks  themselves,  although  the  running  rill 

Suckle  their  roots,  must  wither  at  thy  will ; 

That  all  the  winged  nations,  even  those 

"Whose  heaven-directed  flight  the  future  shows, 

And  all  the  beasts  that  in  dark  forests  stray, 

And  all  the  herds  of  Proteus,  are  thy  prey? 

Ah,  envious !  arm'd  Avith  powers  so  unconfined ! 

"Why  stain  thy  hands  with  blood  of  human  kind? 

"Why  take  delight,  with  darts  that  never  roam, 

To  chase  a  heaven-born  spirit  from  her  home?" 

While  thus  I  mourn'd,  the  star  of  evening  stood, 
JiTow  newly  risen  above  the  western  flood, 
And  Phoebus,  from  his  morning  goal  again 
Had  reach'd  the  gulfs  of  the  Iberian  main. 
I  wish'd  repose,  and,  on  my  coucll  reclined, 
Took  early  rest,  to  night  and  sleep  resigned : 
W^hen — oh  for  words  to  paint  what  I  beheld ! 
I  seem'd  to  wander  in  a  spacious  field, 
Where  all  the  champaign  glow'd  with  purple  light, 
Like  that  of  suniise  on  the  mountain  height; 
Flowers  over  all  the  field,  of  every  hue 
That  ever  Iris  wore,  luxuriant  grew. 
!N"or  Chloris,  with  whom  amorous  Zephyrs  play, 
E'er  dress'd  Alcinous'  garden  half  so  gay. 
A  silver  current,  like  the  Tagus,  roll'd 
O'er  golden  sands,  but  sands  of  purer  gold ; 
With  dewy  airs  Favonius  fann'd  the  flowers, 
With  airs  awaken'd  under  rosy  bowers. 
Such,  poets  feign,  irradiated  all  o'er 
The  sun's  abode  on  India's  utmost  shore. 

AVhile  I  that  splendor,  and  the  mingled  shade 
Of  fruitful  vines,  with  Avonder  fix'd,  survey'd, 
At  once,  with  looks  that  beam'd  celestial  grace. 
The  Seer  of  Winton  stood  before  my  face. 
His  snowy  vesture's  hem  descending  low, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  605 

His  golden  sandals  swept,  and,  pure  as  snow 
New  fallen,  shone  the  mitre  on  his  brow. 
Where'er  he  trod,  a  tremulous  sweet  sound 
Of  gladness  shook  the  flowery  scene  around  : 
Attendant  angels  clap  their  starry  wings. 
The  trumpet  shakes  the  sky,  all  ether  rings; 
Each  chants  his  welcome,  folds  him  to  his  breast, 
And  thus  a  sweeter  voice  than  all  the  rest : 
'^  Ascend,  my  son !  thy  Father's  kingdom  share ! 
My  son !  henceforth  be  freed  from  every  care  !" 

So  spake  the  voice,  and  at  its  tender  close, 
With  psaltery's  sound  the  angelic  band  arose ; 
Then  night  retired,  and,  chased  by  dawning  day, 
The  visionary  bliss  pass'd  all  away. 
I  mourn'd  my  banish'd  sleep  with  fond  concern ; 
Frequent  to  me  may  dreams  like  this  return  I 


ELEGY  IV. 
TO  HIS  TUTOR,  THOMAS  YOUNG, 

CHAPLAIN    TO    THE   ENGLISH    FACTORY    AT    IIAMBUPwG. 

Hence,  my  epistle — skim  the  deep — fly  o'er 
Yon  smooth  expanse  to  the  Teutonic  shore ! 
Haste — lest  a  friend  should  grieve  for  thy  delay — 
And  the  gods  grant  that  nothing  thwart  thy  way  ! 
I  will  myself  invoke  the  king  who  binds 
In  his  Sicanian  eclioing  vault  the  winds, 
With  Doris  and  her  nymphs,  and  all  the  throng 
Of  azure  gods,  to  speed  thee  safe  along. 
But  rather,  to  insure  thy  happier  haste. 
Ascend  Medea's  chariot,  if  thou  mayst ; 
Or  that  whence  young  Triptolemus  of  yore 
Descended,  welcome  on  the  Scythian  shore. 
The  sands  that  line  the  German  coast  descried, 
To  opulent  Hamburga  turn  aside ! 
So  call'd,  if  legendary  fame  be  true. 
From  llama,  whom  a  club-arm'd  Cimbrian  slew ! 
There  lives,  deep  learn'd  and  primitively  just, 
A  faithful  steward  of  his  Christian  trust. 
My  friend,  and  favorite  inmate  of  my  heart, 
That  now  is  forced  to  want  its  better  part. 


COG  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"What  inoiintains  now,  and  seas,  alas  !  how  wide  ! 

From  me  this  other,  dearer  self  divide, 

Dear  as  the  sage  renown'd  for  moral  truth 

To  the  prime  spirit  of  the  Attic  youth  ! 

Dear  as  the  Stagyrite  to  Ammon's  son. 

His  pupil,  who  disdain'd  the  world  he  won ! 

Nor  so  did  Ohiron,  or  so  Phoenix  shine 

In  young  Achilles'  eyes,  as  he  in  mine. 

First  led  by  him  through  sweet  Aonian  shade, 

Each  sacred  haunt  of  Pindus  I  survey 'd  ; 

And,  favor'd  by  the  Muse,  wliom  I  implored, 

Thrice  on  my  lip  the  hallow'd  stream  I  pour'd. 

But  thrice  the  sun's  resplendent  chariot  roll'd 

To  Aries,  has  new  tinged  his  fleece  with  gold. 

And  Oldoris  twice  has  dress'd  the  meadows  gay. 

And  twice  has  summer  parch'd  their  bloom  away. 

Since  last  delighted  on  his  looks  I  hung, 

Or  my  ear  drank  the  music  of  his  tongue  '. 

Fly,  therefore,  and  surpass  the  tempest's  speed ; 

Aware  thyself  that  there  is  urgent  need  ! 

Him,  entering,  thou  shalt  haply  seated  see 

Beside  his  spouse,  his  infants  on  his  knee ; 

Or  turning,  page  by  page,  with  studious  look. 

Some  bulky  father,  or  God's  holy  book ; 

Or  ministering  (which  is  his  weightiest  care) 

To  Christ's  assembled  flock  their  heavenly  fare. 

Give  him,  whatever  his  employment  be, 

Such  gratulation  as  he  claims  from  me ! 

And,  with  a  downcast  eye,  and  carriage  meek, 

Addressing  lum,  forget  not  thus  to  speak : 

'^  If  compass'd  round  with  arms  thou  canst  attend 
To  verse,  verse  greets  thee  from  a  distant  friend. 
Long  due,  and  late,  I  left  tlie  English  shore ; 
But  make  me  welcome  for  that  cause  the  more ! 
Such  from  Ulysses,  his  chaste  wife  to  cheer, 
The  slow  epistle  came,  though  late,  sincere. 
But  wherefore  this  ?  why  palliate  I  the  deed 
For  which  the  culprit's  self  could  hardly  plead  ? 
Self-charged,  and  self-condemn'd,  his  proper  part 
He  feels  neglected,  with  an  aching  heart ; 
But  thou  forgive! — delinquents,  who  confess, 
And  pray  forgiveness,  merit  anger  less  ; 
From  timid  foes  the  lion  turns  away, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  GO 7 

Nor  yawns  upon  or  rends  a  croiicljing  prey  ; 

Even  the  pike- wielding  Thracians  learn  to  spare, 

Won  by  soft  influence  of  a  suppliant  prayer  ; 

And  Heaven's  dread  tliunderbolt  arrested  stands 

By  a  cheap  victim  and  uplifted  hands. 

Long  had  he  wish'd  to  write,  but  was  withheld, 

And  writes  at  last,  by  love  alone  compell'd : 

For  fame,  too  often  true,  when  she  alarms. 

Reports  thy  neighboring  fields  a  scene  of  arms  ; 

Thy  city  against  fierce  besiegers  barr'd. 

And  all  the  Saxon  chiefs  for  fight  prepared. 

Enyo  wastes  thy  country  wide  around, 

And  saturates  with  blood  the  tainted  ground  ; 

Mars  rests  contented  in  his  Thrace  no  more, 

But  goads  his  steeds  to  fields  of  German  gore  ; 

The  ever-verdant  olive  fades  and  dies. 

And  Peace,  the  trumpet-hating  goddess,  flies — 

Flies  from  that  earth  which  Justice  long  had  left, 

And  leaves  the  world  of  its  last  guard  bereft. 

''  Thus  horror  girds  thee  round.     Meantime  alone 
Thou  dwelPst,  and  helpless,  in  a  soil  unknown ; 
Poor,  and  receiving  from  a  foreign  hand 
The  aid  denied  thee  in  thy  native  land. 
Oh,  ruthless  country,  and  unfeeling  more 
Than  thy  own  billow-beaten,  chalky  shore  ! 
Leavest  thou  to  foreign,  care  the  worthies  given 
By  Providence  to  guide  thy  steps  to  heaven? 
His  ministers,  commission'd  to  proclaim 
Eternal  blessings  in  a  Saviour's  name  ! 
Ah,  then  most  worthy,  with  a  soul  unfed. 
In  Stygian  night  to  lie  forever  dead ! 
So  once  the  venerable  Tishbite  stray 'd 
An  exiled  fugitive  from  shade  to  shade, 
When,  flying  Ahab  and  his  fury  wife. 
In  lone  Arabian  wilds  he  shelter'd  life ; 
So  from  Philippa  wander'd  forth  forlorn 
Cilician  Paul,  with  sounding  scourges  torn ; 
And  Christ  himself,  so  left,  and  trod  no  more 
The  thankless  Gergesenes'  forbidden  shore. 

^'But  thou  take  courage!  strive  against  despair! 
Quake  not  with  dread,  nor  nourish  anxious  care  I 
Grim  war  indeed  on  every  side  appears. 
And  thou  art  menaced  by  a  thousand  spears ; 


608  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Yet  none  shall  drink  thy  blood,  or  shall  offend 
Even  tlie  defenceless  bosom  of  my  friend. 
For  thee  the  ^gis  of  thy  God  shall  hide, 
Jehovah's  self  shall  combat  on  thy  side. 
The  same  who  vanqiiish'd  under  Sion's  towers 
At  silent  midnight  all  Assyria's  powers ; 
The  same  who  overthrew  in  ages  past 
Damascus'  sons  that  laid  Samaria  waste ! 
Their  king  he  fill'd  and  them  with  fatal  fears, 
By  mimic  sounds  of  clarions  in  their  ears. 
Of  hoofs,  and  wheels,  and  neighings  from  afar. 
Of  clashing  armor,  and  the  din  of  war. 

"  Thou,  therefore  (as  the  most  afflicted  may). 
Still  hope,  and  triumph  o'er  thy  evil  day ! 
Look  forth,  expecting  happier  times  to  come, 
And  to  enjoy,  once  more,  thy  native  homel" 


ELEGY  V 

ON  THE  APPROACH  OF  SPPJNG. 

Time,  never  wandering  from  his  annual  round, 

Bids  Zephyr  breathe  the  Spring,  and  thaw  the  ground; 

Bleak  Winter  flies,  new  verdure  clothes  the  plain. 

And  earth  assumes  her  transient  youth  again. 

Dream  I,  or  also  to  the  Spring  belong 

Increase  of  genius,  and  new  powers  of  song  ? 

Spring  gives  them,  and,  how  strange  soe'er  it  seems, 

Impels  me  now  to  some  harmonious  themes. 

Castalia's  fountain,  and  the  forked  hill 

By  day,  by  night,  my  raptured  fancy  fill  ; 

My  bosom  burns  and  heaves,  I  hear  within 

A  sacred  sound  that  prompts  me  to  begin. 

Lo!  Plioebus  comes  ;  with  his  bright  hair  he  blends 

The  radiant  laurel  wreath  :  Phoebus  descends! 

I  mount,  and  undepress'd  by  cumbrous  clay, 

Through  cloudy  regions  win  my  easy  way; 

Kapt  through  poetic  shadowy  haunts  I  fly : 

The  shrines  all  open  to  my  dauntless  eye, 

My  spirit  searches  all  the  realms  of  light. 

And  no  Tartarean  gulfs  elude  my  sight. 

But  this  ecstatic  trance — this  glorious  storm 


i 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  609 

Of  inspiration — what  will  it  perform? 

Spring  claims  the  verse  that  with  his  influence  glows, 

And  sliall  be  paid  with  what  himself  bestows. 

Thou,  veii'd  with  opening  foliage,  lead'st  the  throng 
Of  feathered  minstrels,  Philomel !  la  song : 
Let  us,  in  concert,  to  the  season  sing. 
Civic  and  sylvan  heralds  of  the  Spring! 

With  notes  triumphant  Spring's  approach  declare! 
To  Spring,  ye  Muses,  annual  tribute  bear! 
The  Orient  left,  and  Ethiopia's  plains. 
The  sun  now  northward  turns  his  golden  reins ; 
Niglit  creeps  not  now ;  yet  rules  with  gentle  sway, 
And  drives  her  dusky  horrors  swift  away; 
Now  less  fatigued,  on  this  ethereal  plain 
Bootes  follows  his  celestial  wain ! 
And  now  the  radiant  sentinels  above. 
Less  numerous,  watch  around  the  courts  of  Jove, 
For,  with  the  night,  force,  ambush,  slaughter  fly. 
And  no  gigantic  guilt  alarms  the  sky. 
Now,  haply  says  some  shepherd,  while  he  views 
Kecumbent  on  a  rock,  the  reddening  dews. 
This  night,  this,  surely,  Phoebus  miss'd  the  fair, 
Who  stops  his  chariot  by  her  amorous  care. 
Cynthia,  delighted  by  the  morning's  glow. 
Speeds  to  the  woodland,  and  resumes  her  bow ; 
Kesigns  her  beams,  and,  glad  to  disappear. 
Blesses  his  aid,  who  shortens  her  career. 
Come! — Phoebus  cries — Aurora,  come! — too  late 
Thou  lingerest,  slumbering,  with  thy  wither'd  mate; 
Leave  him,  and  to  Ilymettus'  top  repair! 
Thy  darling  Oephalus  expects  thee  there. 
The  goddess  with  a  blush  her  love  betrays, 
But  mounts,  and,  driving  rapidly,  obeys. 
Earth  now  desires  thee,  Ph(Debus !  and,  to  engage 
Thy  warm  embrace,  casts  ofl"  the  guise  of  age ; 
Desires  thee,  and  deserves ;  for  who  so  sweet 
When  her  rich  bosom  courts  thy  genial  heat? 
Her  breath  imparts  to  every  breeze  that  blows 
Arabia's  harvesi-  and  the  Paphian  rose. 
Iler  lofty  front  she  diadems  around 
With  sacred  pines,  like  Ops  on  Ida  crown'd; 
Her  dewy  locks  with  various  flowers  new  blown 
She  interweaves,  various,  and  all  her  own ; 


GIO  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  Proserpine,  in  such  a  wreath  attired, 

Taenarian  Dis  himself  with  love  inspired. 

Fear  not,  lest,  cold  and  coy,  the  Nymph  refuse ! 

Herself,  with  all  her  sighing  Zephyrs,  sues ; 

Each  courts  thee,  fanning  soft  his  scented  wing. 

And  all  her  groves  with  warbled  wishes  ring. 

iTor,  unendowed  and  indigent,  aspires 

The  amorous  Earth  to  engage  thy  warm  desires, 

But,  rich  in  balmy  drugs,  assists  thy  claim. 

Divine  Physician !  to  that  glorious  name. 

If  splendid  recompense,  if  gifts,  can  move 

Desire  in  thee  (gifts  often  purchase  love). 

She  offers  all  the  wealth  her  mountains  hide, 

And  all  that  rests  beneath  the  boundless  tide. 

How  oft,  when  headlong  from  the  heavenly  steep, 

She  sees  thee  playing  in  the  western  deep, 

How  oft  she  cries — "  Ah,  Phoebus,  why  repair 

Thy  wasted  force,  why  seek  refreshment  there  ? 

Can  Tethys  win  thee  ?  wherefore  shouldst  thou  lave 

A  face  so  fair  in  her  unpleasant  wave? 

Come,  seek  my  green  retreats,  and  rather  choose 

To  cool  thy  tresses  in  my  crystal  dews. 

The  grassy  turf  shall  yield  thee  sweeter  rest; 

Come,  lay  thy  evening  glories  on  my  breast. 

And  breathing  fresh,  through  many  a  humid  rose, 

Soft  whispering  airs  shall  lull  thee  to  repose! 

No  fears  I  feel  like  Semele  to  die, 

Nor  lest  thy  burning  wheels  approach  too  nigh ; 

For  thou  canst  govern  them:  here  therefore  rest, 

And  lay  thy  evening  glories  on  my  breast!" 

Thus  breathes  the  wanton  Earth  her  amorous  flame, 
And  all  her  countless  offspring  feel  the  same ; 
For  Cupid  now  through  every  region  strays, 
Brightening  his  faded  fires  with  solar  rays ; 
His  new-strung  bow  sends  forth  a  deadlier  sound, 
And  his  new-pointed  shafts  more  deeply  Avound ; 
Nor  Dian's  self  escapes  him  now  untried, 
Nor  even  Vesta  at  her  altar  side ; 
His  mother  too  repairs  her  beauty's  wane. 
And  seems  sprung  newly  from  the  deep  again. 
Exulting  youths  tiie  hymeneal  sing; 
With  Hymen's  name  roofs,  rocks,  and  valleys  ring; 
He,  new  attired,  and  by  the  season  drest, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  611 

Proceeds,  all  fragrant,  in  liis  saffron  vest. 

Now  many  a  golden-cinctured  virgin  roves 

To  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  fields  and  groves : 

All  wish,  and  eacli  alike,  some  favorite  youth 

Hers,  in  the  bonds  of  hymeneal  truth. 

Now  pipes  the  shepherd  through  his  reeds  again, 

Nor  Phillis  wants  a  song  that  suits  the  strain  ; 

With  songs  the  seaman  hails  the  starry  sphere, 

And  dolphins  rise  from  the  abyss  to  liear : 

Jove  feels  himself  the  season,  sports  again 

"With  his  fair  spouse,  and  banquets  all  his  train. 

Now,  too,  tlie  Satyrs,  in  the  dusk  of  eve. 

Their  mazy  dance  through  flowery  meadows  weave ; 

And,  neither  god  nor  goat,  but  both  in  kind, 

Silvanus,  wi-eathed  with  cypress,  skips  behind. 

The  Dryads  leave  their  hollow  sylvan  cells 

To  roam  the  banks  and  solitary  dells ; 

Pan  riots  now ;  and  from  his  amorous  chafe 

Ceres  and  Oybele  seem  hardly  safe ; 

And  Faunus,  all  on  fire  to  reach  the  prize, 

In  chase  of  some  enticing  Oread  fiies ; 

She  bounds  before,  but  fears  too  swift  a  bound, 

And  hidden  lies,  but  wishes  to  be  found. 

Our  shades  entice  the  Immortals  from  above. 

And  some  kind  power  presides  o'er  every  grove ; 

And  long,  ye  powers,  o'er  every  grove  preside, 

For  all  is  safe,  and  blest,  where  ye  abide ! 

Return,  O  Jove !  the  age  of  gold  restore — 

Why  choose  to  dwell  where  storms  and  thunder  roar? 

At  least  thou,  Phoebus !  moderate  thy  speed  ; 

Let  not  the  vernal  hours  too  swift  proceed ; 

Command  rough  Winter  back,  nor  yield  the  pole 

Too  soon  to  Night's  encroaching,  long  control  I 


612^  cowper's  poetical  works. 

ELEGY  YI. 

TO  CHARLES  DEODATI, 

Who,  while  he  spent  his  Christmas  in  the  country,  sent  the  Author  a  poeti- 
cal epistle,  in  Avhich  he  requested  that  his  verses,  if  not  so  good  as  usual, 
might  be  excused,  on  account  of  the  many  feasts  to  v/hich  his  friends 
invited  him,  and  which  would  not  allow  him  leisure  to  finish  them  as 
he  wished. 

With  no  rich  viands  overcharged,  I  send 

Health,  which  perchance  you  want,  my  pamper'd  friendc 

But  wherefore  should  thy  Muse  tempt  mine  away 

From  what  she  loves,  from  darkness  into  day? 

Art  thou  desirous  to  be  told  how  well 

I  love  thee,  and  in  verse  ?^ — verse  cannot  tell. 

For  verse  has  hounds,  and  must  in  measure  move ; 

But  neither  bounds  nor  measure  knows  my  love. 

How  pleasant,  in  thy  lines  described,  appear 

December's  harmless  sports  and  rural  cheer ! 

French  spirits  kindling  with  cerulean  fires. 

And  all  such  gambols  as  the  time  inspires ! 

Think  not  that  wine  against  good  verse  offends, 
The  Muse  and  Bacchus  have  been  always  friends ; 
Nor  Phoebus  blushes  sometimes  to  be  found 
With  ivy,  rather  than  with  laurel,  crown'd. 
The  Nine  themselves  ofttimes  have  join'd  the  song 
xVnd  revels  of  the  Bacchanalian  throng ; 
Not  even  Ovid  could  in  Scythian  air 
Sing  sweetly — why? — no  vine  would  flourish  there. 
What  in  brief  numbers  sung  Anacreon's  Muse  ? 
Wine,  and  the  rose  that  sparkling  wine  bedews. 
Pindar  with  Bacchus  glows — liis  every  line 
Breathes  the  rich  fragrance  of  inspiring  wine ; 
While,  with  loud  crash  o'erturn'd,  the  chariot  Hes, 
And  brown  with  dust  the  fiery  courser  flies. 
The  Roman  lyrist  steep'd  in  wine  his  lays 
So  sweet  in  Glycera's  and  Chloe's  praise. 
Now,  too,  the  plenteous  feast  and  mantling  bowl 
Nourish  the  vigor  of  thy  sprightly  soul ; 
The  flowing  goblet  makes  tliy  numbers  flow. 
And  casks  not  wine  alone  but  verse  bestow. 
Thus  Phoebus  favors,  and  the  arts  attend, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  613 

Whom  Bacchus  and  whom  Ceres  both  befriend. 
What  wonder,  then,  thy  verses  are  so  sweet, 
In  which  these  triple  powers  so  kindly  meet ! 
The  lute  now  also  sounds,  with  gold  inwrought, 
And,  touch'd  with  flying  fingers  nicely  taught. 
In  tapestried  halls,  high-roof'd,  the  sprightly  lyre 
Directs  the  dancers  of  the  virgin  choir. 
If  dull  repletion  friglit  the  Muse  away. 
Sights  gay  as  these  may  more  invite  her  stay ; 
And,  trust  me,  while  the  ivory  keys  resound. 
Fair  damsels  sport,  and  perfumes  steam  around, 
Apollo's  influence,  like  ethereal  flame. 
Shall  animate,  at  once,  thy  glowing  frame ; 
And  all  the  Muse  shall  rush  into  thy  breast, 
By  Love  and  Music's  blended  powers  possest. 
For  numerous  powers  light  Elegy  befriend. 
Hear  her  sweet  voice,  and  at  her  call  attend; 
Her,  Bacchus,  Ceres,  Venus,  all  approve, 
And,  with  his  blushing  mother,  gentle  Love. 
Hence  to  such  bards  we  grant  the  copious  use 
Of  ban(}uets  and  the  vine's  delicious  juice. 
But  they  who  demigods  and  heroes  praise. 
And  feats  perform'd  in  Jove's  more  youthful  days,, 
Who  now  the  counsels  of  high  Heaven  explore, 
Now  shades  that  echo  the  Cerberean  roar ; 
Simply  let  these,  like  him  of  Samos,  live. 
Let  herbs  to  them  a  bloodless  banquet  give ; 
In  beechen  goblets  let  their  beverage  shine. 
Cool  from  the  crystal  spring,  their  sober  wine! 
Their  youth  should  pass  in  innocence  secure 
From  stain  licentious,  and  in  manners  pure. 
Pure  as  the  priest,  wlien  robed  in  white  he  stands^, 
The  fresh  lustration  ready  in  his  hands. 
Thus  Linus  lived,  and  thus,  as  poets  write, 
Tiresias,  wiser  for  his  loss  of  sight ; 
Thus  exiled  Chalcas,  thus  the  Bard  of  Thrace, 
Melodious  tamer  of  the  savage  race ; 
Thus  train'd  by  temperance.  Homer  led,  of  yore,, 
His  chief  of  Ithaca  from  shore  to  shore. 
Through  magic  Circe's  monster-peopled  reign. 
And  shoals  insidious  with  the  syren  train ; 
And  through  the  realms  where  grizzly  spectres  dwell,. 
Whose  tribes  he  enter'd  in  a  gory  spell ; 
52 


614  cowper's  poetical  works. 

For  these  are  sacred  bands,  and  from  above 
Drink  large  infusions  from  the  mind  of  Jove. 

Wouldst  thou  (perhaps  'tis  liardly  worth  thine  ear)- 
Wouldst  thou  be  told  my  occupation  here  ? 
The  promised  King  of  Peace  employs  my  pen, 
The  eternal  covenant  made  for  guilty  men, 
The  new-born  Deity,  with  infant  cries 
Fining  the  sordid  hovel  where  he  lies ; 
The  hymning  angels,  and  the  herald  star, 
That  led  the  wise,  who  sought  him  from  afar, 
And  idols  on  their  own  unhallow'd  shore 
Dash'd,  at  his  birth,  to  be  revered  no  more. 

This  theme  on  reeds  of  Albion  I  rehearse : 
The  dawn  of  that  blest  day  inspired  the  verse ; 
Verse  that,  reserved  in  secret,  shall  attend 
Thy  candid  voice,  my  critic  and  my  friend! 


ELEGY  VII. 

As  yet  a  stranger  to  the  gentle  fires 

That  Amathusia's  smiling  Queen  inspires, 

[N'ot  seldom  I  derided  Cupid's  darts. 

And  scorn VI  his  claim  to  rule  all  human  hearts. 

"  Go,  child,"  I  said,  "  transfix  the  timorous  dove ! 

An  easy  conquest  suits  an  infant  love ; 

Enslave  the  sparrow,  for  such  prize  shall  be 

Sufficient  triumph  to  a  chief  like  thee ! 

Why  aim  thy  idle  arms  at  human  kind ! 

Thy  shafts  prevail  not  'gainst  the  noble  mind." 

The  Cyprian  heard,  and,  kindling  into  ire 
(None  kindles  sooner),  burn'd  with  double  fire. 

It  was  the  spring,  and  newly-risen  day 
Peep'd  o'er  the  hamlets  on  the  first  of  May ; 
My  eyes,  too  tender  for  the  blaze  of  light. 
Still  sought  the  shelter  of  retiring  night, 
When  Love  approach'd :  in  painted  plumes  array'd. 
The  insidious  god  his  rattling  darts  betray'd; 
ISTor  less  his  infant  features,  and  the  sly,    * 
Sweet  intimations  of  his  threatening  eye. 

Such  the  Sigeian  boy  is  seen  above. 
Filling  the  goblet  for  imperial  Jove ; 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  615 

Sncli  he,  on  whom  the  ITymphs  bestow'd  their  charms, 

Hylas,  who  perish'd  in  a  Naiad's  arms. 

Angry  lie  seem'd,  yet  graceful  in  his  ire. 

And  added  threats  not  destitute  of  fire. 

"My  power,"  lie  said,  ''by  others'  pain  alone, 

'Twere  best  to  learn ;  now  learn  it  by  thy  own ! 

With  those  that  feel  my  power,  that  power  attest! 

And  in  thy  anguish  be  my  sway  confest ! 

I  vanquish'd  Plioebus,  though  returning  vain 

From  his  new  triumph  o'er  the  Python  slakj; 

And,  when  he  thinks  on  Daphne,  even  he 

Will  yield  the  prize  of  archery  to  me. 

A  dart  less  true  the  Parthian  horseman  sped, 

Behind  him  kill'd,  and  conquer'd  as  he  fled : 

Less  true  the  expert  Oydonian,  and  less  true 

The  youth  whose  shaft  his  latent  Procris  slew. 

Yanquish'd  by  me  see  huge  Orion  bend ; 

By  me  Alcides,  and  Alcides'  friend. 

At  me  should  Jove  himself  a  bolt  design, 

His  bosom  first  should  bleed,  transfix'd  by  mine. 

But  all  thy  doubts  this  shaft  will  best  explain, 

Nor  shall  it  reach  thee  with  a  trivial  pain. 

Thy  Muse,  vain  youth!  shall  not  thy  peace  insure. 

Nor  Phoebus'  serpent  yield  thy  wound  a  cure." 

He  spoke,  and,  waving  a  bright  shaft  in  air, 
Sought  the  warm  bosom  of  the  Cyprian  fair. 

That  thus  a  child  should  bluster  in  my  ear, 
Provoked  my  laughter  more  than  moved  my  fear. 
I  shunn'd  not,  therefore,  public  haunts,  but  stray'd 
Careless  in  city  or  suburban  shade; 
And,  passing  and  repassing  nymphs,  that  moved 
With  grace  divine,  beheld  where'er  I  roved. 
Bright  shone  the  vernal  day  with  double  blaze. 
As  beauty  gave  new  force  to  Phoebus'  rays. 
By  no  grave  scruples  check'd,  I  freely  eyed 
The  dangerous  show,  rash  youth  my  only  guide ; 
And  many  a  look  of  many  a  fiiir  unknown 
Met  full,  unable  to  control  my  own. 
But  one  I  mark'd  (then  peace  forsook  my  breast), 
One — ^oh  how  far  superior  to  the  rest! 
What  lovely  features !  such  the  Cyprian  Queen 
Herself  might  wish,  and  Juno  wisli  her  mien. 
The  very  nymph  was  she,  whom,  when  I  dared 


616  cowper's  poetical  works. 

His  arrows,  Love  had  even  then  prepared ! 

Nor  was  himself  remote,  nor  unsupplied 

With  torch  well  trimm'd  and  quiver  at  his  side : 

^Row  to  her  lips  he  clung,  her  eyelids  now, 

Then  settled  on  her  cheeks,  or  on  her  hrow ; 

And  with  a  thousand  wounds  from  every  part 

Pierced  and  transpierced  my  undefended  heart. 

A  fever,  new  to  me,  of  fierce  desire, 

Now  seized  my  soul,  and  I  was  all  on  fire ; 

But  she,  the  wliile,  whom  only  I  adore, 

"Was  gone,  and  vanished  to  appear  no  more. 

In  silent  sadness  I  pursue  my  way ; 

I  pause,  I  turn,  proceed,  yet  wish  to  stay ; 

And,  while  I  follow  her  in  thought,  bemoan 

With  tears  my  soul's  delight  so  quickly  flown. 

When  Jove  had  hurl'd  him  to  the  Lemnian  coast, 

So  Vulcan  sorrow'd  for  Olympus  lost ; 

And  so  (Eclides,  sinking  into  night. 

From  the  deep  gulf  look'd  up  to  distant  light. 

Wretch  that  I  am,  what  hopes  for  me  remain. 
Who  cannot  cease  to  love,  yet  love  in  vain  1 ' 
Oh,  could  I  once,  once  more,  behold  the  fair. 
Speak  to  her,  tell  her  of  the  pangs  I  bear  ; 
Perhaps  she  is  not  adamant ;  would  show 
Perhaps  some  pity  at  my  tale  of  woe. 
Oh,  inauspicious  flame ! — 'tis  mine  to  prove 
A  matchless  instance  of  disastrous  love  ! 
Ah,  spare  me,  gentle  power ! — If  sucli  thou  be^ 
Let  not  thy  deeds  and  nature  disagree ; 
Spare  me,  and  I  will  worship  at  no  shrine 
With  vow  and  sacrifice  save  only  thine. 
Now  I  revere  thy  fires,  thy  bow,  thy  darts: 
Now  own  thee  sovereign  of  all  human  hearts. 
Kemove !  no — grant  me  still  this  raging  woe  t 
Sweet  is  the  wretchedness  that  lovers  know : 
But  pierce  hereafter  (should  I  chance  to  see 
One  destined  mine)  at  once  both  her  and  me. 

Such  were  the  trophies  that,  in  earlier  days. 
By  vanity  seduced,  I  toil'd  to  raise ; 
Studious,  yet  indolent,  and  urged  by  youth. 
That  worst  of  teachers-,  from  the  ways  of  truth  ; 
Till  Learning  taught  me  in  his  shady  bower 
To  quit  Love's  servile  yoke,  and  spurn  his  power. 


1 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  GlV 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  tlie  fierce  flame  snpprest,  - 
A  frost  continual  settled  on  my  breast; 
Whence  Cupid  fears  his  flame  extinct  to  see, 
And  Venus  dreads  a  Diomede  in  me. 


THE  COTTAGER  AND  HIS  LANDLORD. 

A    FABLE. 

A  PEASANT  to  his  lord  paid  yearly  court, 
Presenting  pippins  of  so  rich  a  sort, 
Tliat  he,  displeased  to  have  a  part  alone. 
Removed  the  tree,  that  all  miglit  be  his  own. 
The  tree,  too  old  to  travel,  though  before 
So  fruitful,  withered,  and  would  yield  no  more. 
The  squire,  perceiving  all  liis  labor  void, 
Cursed  his  own  pains,  so  foolishly  employM ; 
And,  ^'Oh,"  he  cried,  ''that  I  had  lived  content 
With  tribute,  small  indeed,  but  kindly  meant ! 
My  avarice  has  expensive  proved  to  me. 
Has  cost  me  both  my  pippins  and  my  tree!" 


EPIGRAMS. 

ON   THE   INVENTOR   OF   GUNS. 

Praise  in  old  time  the  sage  Prometheus  won. 
Who  stole  ethereal  radiance  from  the  sun ; 
But  greater  he,  whose  bold  invention  strove 
To  emulate  the  fiery  bolts  of  Jove. 

[The  poems  on  the  subject  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason  I  have  not  transla- 
;d,  both  because  the  matter  of  them  is  unpleasant,  and  because  they  are 
Titten  with  an  asperity,  which,  however  it  might  be  warranted  in  Milton's 
ay,  would  be  extremely  unseasonable  now.] 

TO   LEONORA   SINGING   AT   KOME.* 

Another  Leonora  once  inspired 
Tasso  with  fatal  love,  to  frenzy  fired; 

*  I  have  translated  only  two  of  the  three  poetical  compliments  addressed: 
)  Leonora,  as  they  appear  to  me  far  superior  to  what  I  have  omitted. 


018  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But- how  much  happier  hvecl  he  now,  were  he, 

Pierced  with  whatever  pangs  for  love  of  thee ! 

Since  couhl  he  l:ear  that  heavenly  voice  of  thine, 

"With  Adriana's  lute  of  sound  divine, 

Fiercer  than  Pentheus'  though  his  eye  might  roll, 

Or  idiot  apathy  benumb  his  soul. 

You  still  with  medicinal  sounds  might  cheer 

His  senses  wandering  in  a  blind  career ; 

And  sweetly  breathing  through  his  wounded  breast. 

Charm,  with  soul-soothing  song,  his  thoughts  to  rest. 

TO    THE    SAME. 

Naples,  too  credulous,  ah  !  boast  no  more 
The  sweet- voiced  Siren  buried  on  tliy  shore — 
That,  when  Parthenope  deceased,  she  gave 
Her  sacred  dust  to  a  Ohalcidic  grave ; 
For  still  she  lives,  but  has  exchanged  the  hoarse 
Pausihpo  for  Tiber's  placid  course. 
Where,  idol  of  all  Rome,  she  now  in  chains 
Of  magic  song  both  gods  and  men  detains. 

TO    CHRISTINA,    QUEEX    OF    SWEDEN,  WITH    CROMWELl's 
PICTURE. 

Christina,  maiden  of  heroic  mien ! 
Star  of  the  North !  of  northern  stars  the  queen! 
Behold  what  wrinkles  I  have  earn'd,  and  how 
The  iron  casque  still  chafe's  my  veteran  brow. 
"While  following  Fate's  dark  footsteps,  I  fulfil 
The  dictates  of  a  hardy  people's  wilL 
But  soften'd  in  thy  sight  my  looks  appear, 
Not  to  all  Queens  or  Kings  alike  severe. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  VICE-CHANCELLOR,  A 
PHYSICIAN. 

Learn,  ye  nations  of  the  earth. 
The  condition  of  your  birth  ; 
Now  be  taught  your  feeble  state  ! 
Know,  that  all  must  yield  to  Fate ! 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  C19 

If  the  mournful  rover,  Death, 

Say  but  once — '' Resign  your  breath!" 

Vainly  of  escape  you  dream, 

You  must  pass  the.  Stygian  stream. 

Could  the  stoutest  overcome 
Death's  assault,  and  baffle  -doom, 
Hercules  had  both  withstood, 
Undiseased  by  Nessus'  blood. 

Ne'er  had  Hector  press'd  the  plain 
By  a  trick  of  Pallas  slain, 
Nor  the  chief  to  Jove  allied 
By  Achilles'  phantom  died. 

Could  enchantments  life  prolong, 
Circe,  saved  by  magic  song, 
Still  had  lived,  and  equal  skill 
Had  preserved  Medea  still. 

Dwelt  in  herbs  and  drugs  a  power 
To  avert  man's  destined  hour, 
Learn'd  Machaon  should  have  known 
Doubtless  to  avert  his  own : 

Cliiron  had  survived  the  smart 
Of  the  hydra-tainted  dart, 
And  Jove's  bolt  had  been,  with  ease, 
Foil'd  by  Asclepiades. 

Thou  too,  sage !  of  whom  forlorn 
Helicon  and  Oirrlia  mourn, 
Still  hadst  fill'd  thy  princely  place, 
Regent  of  the  gowned  race : 

Hadst  advanced  to  higher  fame 
Still  thy  much  ennobled  name, 
Nor  in  Charon's  skiff  explored 
The  Tartarean  gulf  abhorr'd. 

But  resentful  Proserpine, 
Jealous  of  thy  skill  divine. 
Snapping  short  thy  vital  thread, 
Thee  too  number'd  "wj^th  the  dead. 


620  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"Wise  and  good!  untroubled  be 
The  green  turf  that  covers  thee ! 
Thence,  in  gay  profusion,  grow 
All  the  sweetest  flowers  that  blow ! 

Pluto's  consort  bid  thee  rest ! 
j^acus  pronounce  thee  blest ! 
To  her  home  thy  shade  consign! 
Make  Elysiam  ever  thine! 


OiS"  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  ELY. 

My  lids  with  grief  were  tamid  yet. 

And  still  my  sullied  cheek  was  wet 

With  briny  dews,  profusely  shed, 

For  venerable  Winton  dead : 

When^Fame,  whose  tales  of  saddest  sound, 

Alas  !  are  ever  truest  found. 

The  news  through  all  our  cities  spread 

Of  yet  another  mitred  head 

By  ruthless  Fate  to  Death  consign'd, 

Ely,  the  honor  of  his  kind  ! 

At  once  a  storm  of  passion  heaved 
My  boiling  bosom,  much  I  grieved ; 
But  more  I  raged,  at  every  breath 
Devoting  Death  himself  to  death. 
"With  less  revenge  did  Naso  teem. 
When  hated  Ibis  w\as  his  theme ; 
With  less  Archilochus  denied 
The  lovely  Greek  his  promised  bride. 

But  lo !  while  thus  I  execrate. 
Incensed,  the  minister  of  Fate, 
Wondrous  accents,  soft,  yet  clear. 
Wafted  on  the  gale  I  hear  : 

"  Ah,  much  deluded !  lay  aside 
Thy  threats  and  anger  misapplied ! 
Art  not  afraid  with  sounds  like  these 
To  offend,  where  thou  canst  not  appease  ? 
Death  is  not  (wherefore  dream'st  thou  thus  ?) 
The  sou  of  Night  and  Erebus: 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  621 

Nor  was  of  fell  Erynnis  born 
On  gulfs  where  Chaos  rules  forlorn ; 
But,  sent  from  God,  his  presence  leaves, 
To  gather  home  his  ripen'd  sheaves. 
To  call  encumber'd  souls  away 
From  fleshly  bonds  to  boundless  day 
(As  when  the  winged  hours  excite 
And  summon  forth  the  morning  light), 
And  each  to  convoy  to  her  place 
Before  the  Eternal  Father's  face. 
But  not  the  wicked — them,  severe 
Yet  just,  from  all  their  pleasures  hero 
He  hurries  to  the  realms  below. 
Terrific  realms  of  penal  woe ! 
Myself  no  sooner  heard  liis  call. 
Than,  'scaping  through  my  prison  wall, 
I  bade  adieu  to  bolts  and  bars, 
And  soar'd,  with  angels,  to  the  stars ; 
Like  him  of  old,  to  whom  'twas  given 
To  mount  on  fiery  wheels  to  heaven. 
Bootes'  wagon,  slow  with  cold, 
Appall'd  me  not ;  nor  to  behold 
The  sword  that  vast  Orion  draws. 
Or  even  the  Scorpion's  horrid  claws. 
Beyond  the  sun's  bright  orb  I  fly. 
And  far  beneath  my  feet  descry 
Night's  dread  goddess,  seen  with  awe, 
Whom  her  winged  dragons  draw. 
Thus,  ever  wondering  at  my  speed. 
Augmented  still  as  I  proceed, 
I  pass  the  planetary  sphere. 
The  Milky  Way — and  now  appear 
Heaven's  crystal  battlements,  her  door 
Of  massy  pearl,  and  emerald  floor. 

"  But  here  I  cease.     For  never  can 
The  tongue  of  once  a  mortal  man 
In  suitable  description  trace 
The  pleasures  of  that  liappy  place ; 
Suflfice  it,  that  those  joys  divine 
Are  all,  and  all  forever,  minel'* 


G22  cowper's  poetical  works. 


NATURE  UNIMPAIRED  BY  TIME. 


1 


Ah,  how  the  human  mind  wearies  herself 

With  her  own  wanderings,  and,  involved  in  gloom 

Impenetrable,  speculates  amiss ! 

Measuring  in  her  folly  things  divine 

By  human;  laws  inscribed  on  adamant 

By  laws  of  man's  device ;  and  counsels  fix'd 

Forever,  by  the  hours  that  pass  and  die. 

How  ? — shall  the  face  of  nature  tlien  be  ploughed 
Into  deep  wrinkles,  and  shall  years  at  last 
On  the  great  Parent  fix  a  sterile  curse? 
Shall  even  she  confess  old  age,  and  halt, 
And,  palsy-smitten,  shake  her  starry  brows  ? 
Shall  foul  Antiquity  with  rust,  and  Drought, 
And  Famine,  vex  the  radiant  worlds  above? 
Shall  Time's  unsated  maw  crave  and  engulf 
The  very  heavens,  that  regulate. his  flight? 
And  was  the  Sire  of  all  able  to  fence 
His  works,  and  to  uphold  the  circhng  worlds, 
But,  through  improvident  and  heedless  haste, 
Let  slip  the  occasion? — so  then — all  is  lost — 
And  in  some  future  evil  hour,  yon  arch 
Shall  crumble,  and  come  thundering  down,  the  poles 
Jar  in  collision,  the  Olympian  king 
Fall  with  his  throne,  and  Pallas,  holding  forth 
The  terrors  of  the  Gorgon  shield  in  vain, 
Shall  rush  to  the  abyss,  like  Vulcan  hurl'd 
Down  into  Lemnos,  through  the  gate  of  heaven. 
Thou  also,  with  precipitated  wheels, 
Phoebus!  thy  own  son's  fall  shalt  imitate, 
With  hideous  ruin  shalt  impress  the  deep 
Suddenly,  and  the  flood  shall  reek,  and  hiss, 
At  the  extinction  of  the  lamp  of  day. 
Then  too  shall  Hsemus,  cloven  to  his  base. 
Be  shatter'd,  and  the  huge  Ceraunian  hills, 
Once  weapons  of  Tartarean  Dis,  immersed 
In  Erebus,  shall  fill  himself  with  fear. 

1^0.     The  Almighty  Father  surer  laid 
His  deep  foundations,  and,  providing  well 
For  the  event  of  all,  the  scales  of  Fate 
Suspended  in  just  equipoise,  and  bade 


I 


i 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  6^3 

Piis  universal  works,  from  age  to  age, 
One  tenor  bold,  perpetual,  undisturb'd. 

Hence  the  prime  mover  wheels  itself  about 
Continual,  day  by  day,  and  with  it  bears 
In  social  measure  swift,  the  heavens  around. 
Not  tardier  now  is  Saturn  than  of  old. 
Nor  radiant  less  the  burning  casque  of  Mars. 
Phcebus,  his  vigor  unimpaired,  still  shows 
•The  effulgence  of  his  youth :  nor  needs  the  god 
A  downward  course,  that  he  may  warm  the  vales ; 
But,  ever  rich  in  influence,  runs  his  road. 
Sign  after  sign,  through  all  the  heavenly  zone. 
Beautiful,  as  at  first,  ascends  the  star 
From  odoriferous  Ind,  whose  office  is 
To  gather  home  betimes  the  ethereal  flock, 
To  pour  them  o'er  the  skies  again  at  eve. 
And  to  discriminate  the  night  and  day. 
Still  Cynthia's  changeful  horn  waxes  and  w^anes 
Alternate,  and  with  arms  extended  still 
She  welcomes  to  her  breast  her  brother's  beams. 
Nor  have  the  elements  deserted  yet 
Their  functions ;  thunder  with  as  loud  a  stroke 
As  erst  smites  through  the  rocks  and  scatters  them. 
The  East  still  howls ;  still  the  relentless  North 
Invades  the  shuddering  Scythian,  still  he  breathes 
The  winter,  and  still  rolls  the  storms  along. 
The  king  of  ocean,  with  his  wonted  force, 
Beats  on  Pelorus ;  o'er  the  deep  is  heard 
The  hoarse  alarm  of  Triton's  sounding  shell; 
Noi'  swim  the  monsters  of  the  ^gean  sea 
In  shallows,  or  beneath  diminish'd  waves. 
Thou  too,  thy  ancient  vegetative  power 
Enjoy'st,  O  Earth !  Narcissus  still  is  sweet; 
And  Phoebus !  still  thy  favorite,  and  still 
Thy  favorite  Cythcrea!  both  retain 
Their  beauty  ;  nor  the  mountains,  ore-enrich'd 
Her  punishmenfof  man,  with  purer  gold 
Teem'd  ever,  or  with  brighter  gems  the  deep. 

Thus  in  unbroken  series  all  proceeds ; 
And  shall,  till  wide  involving  either  pole, 
And  the  immensity  of  yonder  heaven. 
The  final  flames  of  destiny  absorb 
The  world,  consumed  in  one  enormous  pyre  I 


624  cowper's  poetical  works. 


Ols  THE  PLATONIC  IDEA  AS  IT  WAS  UNDERSTOOD 
BY  ARISTOTLE. 

Ye  sister  powers,  who  o'er  the  sacred  groves 

Preside,  and  thou,  fair  motlier  of  them  all, 

Mnemosyne !  and  thou  who,  in  thy  grot 

Immense,  reclined  at  leisure,  hast  in  charge 

The  archives  and  the  ordinances  of  Jove, 

And  dost  record  the  festivals  of  heaven, 

Eternity ! — inform  us,  who  is  He, 

That  Great  Original,  by  nature  chosen 

To  be  the  archetype  of  human  kind. 

Unchangeable,  immortal,  with  the  poles 

Themselves  coeval — one,  yet  everywhere. 

An  image  of  the  God  who  gave  him  being? 

TAvin-brother  of  the  goddess  born  from  Jove, 

He  dwells  not  in  his  father's  mind,  but,  though 

Of  common  nature  with  ourselves,  exists 

Apart,  and  occupies  a  local  home — 

Whether,  companion  of  the  stars,  he  spend 

Eternal  ages,  roaming  at  his  will 

From  sphere  to  sphere,  the  tenfold  heavens,  or  dwell 

On  the  moon's  side  that  nearest  neighbors  Earth, 

Or  torpid  on  tlie  banks  of  Lethe  sit 

Among  the  multitude  of  souls  ordain'd 

To  flesh  and  blood ;  or  whether  (as  may  chance) 

That  vast  and  giant  model  of  our  kind. 

In  some  far  distant  region  of  this  globe, 

Sequester'd  stalk  with  lifted  head  on  high, 

O'ertowering  Atlas,  on  whose  shoulders  rest 

The  stars,  terrific  even  to  the  gods. 

Never  the  Theban  seer,  whose  blindness  proved 

His  best  illumination,  him  beheld 

In  secret  vision ;  never  him  the  son 

Of  Pleione,  amid  the  noiseless  night 

Descending,  to  the  prophet-choir  reveal'd ; 

Him  never  knew  the  Assyrian  priest,  who  yet 

The  ancestry  of  Ninus'  chronicles. 

And  Belus,  and  Osiris,  far  renown'd ; 

Nor  even  thrice-great  Hermes,  although  skill'd 

So  deep  in  mystery,  to  the  worshippers 

Of  Isis  show'd  a  prodigy  like  him. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  625 

And  thou,  who  hast  immortalized  the  shades 
Of  Academus,  if  the  schools  received 
Tliis  monster  of  the  fancy  first  from  thee, 
Eitlicr  recall  at  once  thy  banish'd  bards 
To  thy  republic,  or  thyself,  evinced 
A  wilder  fabulist,  go  also  forth  ! 


TO  HIS  FATHER. 

On  that  Pieria's  spring  would  through  my  breast 

Pour  its  inspiring  influence,  and  rush 

N'o  rill,  but  rather  an  o'erfloAving  flood ! 

That,  for  my  venerable  Father's  sake 

All  meaner  themes  renounced,  my  Muse,  on  wings 

Of  duty  borne,  might  reach  a  loftier  strain  : 

For  thee,  my  Father !  howsoe'er  it  please, 

She  frames  this  slender  work ;  nor  know  I  aught 

That  may  thy  gifts  more  suitably  requite  : 

Though  to  requite  them  suitably  would  ask 

Returns  much  nobler,  and  surpassing  far 

The  meagre  stores  of  verbal  gratitude : 

But,  such  as  I  possess,  I  send  thee  all. 

This  page  presents  thee  in  their  full  amount 

With  thy  son's  treasures,  and  the  sum  is  naught; 

Naught,  save  the  riches  that  from  airy  dream 

In  secret  grottoes  and  in  laurel  bowers, 

I  have,  by  golden  Clio's  gift,  acquired. 

Verse  is  a  work  divine  ;  despise  not  thou 
Verse  therefore,  which  evinces  (nothing  more) 
Man's  heavenly  source,  and  which,  retaining  still 
Some  scintillations  of  Promethean  fire. 
Bespeaks  him  animated  from  above. 
The  Gods  love  verse ;  the  infernal  Powers  themselves 
Confess  the  influence  of  verse,  which  stirs 
The  lowest  deep,  and  binds  in  triple  chains 
Of  adamant  both  Pluto  and  the  Shades. 
In  verse  the  Delphic  priestess  and  the  pale 
Tremulous  Sibyl  make  the  future  known ; 
And  he  who  sacrifices,  on  the  shrine 
Hangs  verse,  both  when  he  smites  the  threatening  bull. 
And  when  he  spreads  his  reeking  entrails  wide 
53 


G26  cowper's  poetical  works. 

To  scrutinize  tlie  fates  enveloped  there. 

We  too,  ourselves,  what  time  we  seek  again 

Our  native  skies,  and  one  eternal  Now 

Shall  be  the  only  measure  of  our  being, 

Crown VI  all  with  gold,  and  chanting  to  the  lyre 

Harmonious  verse,  shall  range  the  courts  above, 

And  make  the  starry  firmament  resound. 

x\nd,  even  now  the  fiery  spirit  pure 

That  wheels  yon  circling  orbs,  directs  himself 

Their  mazy  dance  with  melody  of  verse 

Unutterable,  innnortal,  hearing  wiiich 

Huge  Ophiuchus  holds  his  hiss  suppress'd ; 

Orion,  soften'd,  drops  his  ardent  blade. 

And  Atlas  stands  unconscious  of  his  load. 

Verse  graced  of  old  the  feasts  of  kings,  ere  yet 

Luxurious  dainties,  destined  to  the  gulf 

Immense  of  gluttony,  were  known,  and  ere 

Lyseus  deluged  yet  the  temperate  board. 

Then  sat  the  bard,  a  customary  guest. 

To  share  the  banquet,  and,  his  length  of  locks 

AVith  beechen  honors  bound,  proposed  in  verse 

The  characters  of  heroes  and  their  deeds, 

To  imitation ;  sang  of  Chaos  old, 

Of  Nature's  birth,  of  gods  that  crept  in  search 

Of  acorns  fallen,  and  of  the  thunderbolt 

Not  yet  produced  from  Etna's  fiery  cave. 

And  what  avails,  at  last,  tune  without  voice, 

Devoid  of  matter  ?     Such  may  suit  perhaps 

The  rural  dance,  but  such  was  ne'er  the  song 

Of  Orpheus,  whom  the  streams  stood  still  to  hear. 

And  the  oaks  followed.     Not  by  chords  alone, 

Well  touch'd,  but  by  resistless  accents  more, 

To  sympathetic  tears  the  ghosts  themselves 

He  moved  ;  these  praises  to  his  verse  he  owes. 

Nor  thou  persist,  I  pray  thee,  still  to  slight 
The  sacred  Nine,  and  to  imagine  vain 
And  useless.  Powers,  by  wdiom  inspired,  thyself 
Art  skilful  to  associate  verse  with  airs 
Harmonious,  and  to  give  the  human  vo'ce 
A  thousand  modulations,  heir  by  right 
Indisputable  of  Arion's  fame. 
Now  say,  what  wonder  is  it,  if  a  son 
Of  thine  delight  in  verse,  if,  so  conjoin'd 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  027 

In  close  affinity,  we  sympathize 

In  social  arts  and  kindred  studies  sweet? 

Such  distribution  of  himself  to  us 

AVas  Phoebus'  choice;  thou  hast  thy  gift,  and  I 

Mine  also,  and  between  us  we  I'eceive, 

Father  and  son,  the  whole  inspiring  God. 

No!  howsoe'er  the  semblance  thou  assume 
Of  hate,  thou  hatest  not  the  gentle  Muse, 
My  Father!  for  thou  never  badest  me  tread 
The  beaten  path,  and  broad,  that  leads  right  on 
To  opulence,  nor  didst  condemn  thy  son 
To  tlie  insipid  clamors  of  the  bar. 
To  laws  voluminous,  and  ill  observed ; 
But  wishing  to  enrich  me  more,  to  fill 
My  mind  with  treasure,  ledd'st  me  far  away 
From  city  din  to  deep  retreats,  to  banks 
And  streams  Aonian,  and,  with  free  consent, 
Didst  place  me  happy  at  Apollo's  side. 
I  speak  not  now,  on  more  important  themes 
Intent,  of  common  benefits,  and  such 
As  Nature  bids,  but  of  thy  larger  gifts, 
My  Father !  who,  when  I  had  open'd  once 
The  stores  of  Roman  rhetoric,  and  learn'd 
The  full-toned  language  of  the  eloquent  Greeks, 
"Whose  lofty  music  graced  the  lips  of  Jove, 
Thyself  didst  counsel  me  to  add  the  flowers 
That  Gallia  boasts;  those  too,  w^ith  which  the  smooth 
Italian  his  degenerate  speech  adorns. 
That  witnesses  his  mixture  with  the  Goth ; 
And  Palestine's  prophetic  songs  divine. 
To  sum  the  whole,  whate'er  the  heaven  contains, 
The  earth  beneath  it,  and  the  air  between. 
The  rivers  and  the  restless  deep,  may  all 
Prove  intellectual  gain  to  me,  my  wish 
Concurring  with  thy  will;  Science  herself, 
All  cloud  removed,  inclines  her  beauteous  head, 
And  offers  me  the  lip,  if,  dull  of  heart, 
I  shriidv  not,  and  decline  her  gracious  boon. 

Go  now,  and  gather  dross,  ye  sordid  minds 
That  covet  it;  what  could  my  Father  more? 
"What  more  could  Jove  himself,  unless  he  gave 
His  own  abode,  the  heaven  in  which  he  reigns? 
More  eligible  gifts  than  these  were  not 


1! 


628  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Apollo's  to  his  son,  had  they  been  safe 
As  they  were  insecure,  who  made  the  boy 
The  world's  vice-luminary,  bade  him  rule 
The  radiant  chariot  of  the  day,  and  bind 
To  his  young  brows  his  own  all-dazzling  wreath. 
I  therefore,  although  last  and  least,  my  place 
Among  the  learned  in  the  laurel  grove 
Will  hold,  and  where  the  conqueror's  ivy  twines, 
Henceforth  exempt  from  the  unletter'd  throng 
Profane,  nor  even  to  be  seen  by  such. 
Away  then,  sleepless  Care,  Complaint,  away, 
And  Envy,  with  thy  ''jealous  leer  malign!" 
Nor  let  the  monster  Calumny  shoot  forth 
Her  venom'd  tongue  at  me.     Detested  foes! 
Ye  all  are  impotent  against  my  peace ; 
For  I  am  privileged,  and  bear  my  breast 
Safe,  and  too  high,  for  your  viperean  wound. 

But  thou,  my  Father !  since  to  render  thanks 
Equivalent,  and  to  requite  by  deeds 
Thy  liberality,  exceeds  my  power ; 
Suffice  it,  that  I  thus  record  thy  gifts, 
And  bear  them  treasured  in  a  grateful  mind ! 
Ye,  too,  the  favorite  pastime  of  my  youth, 
My  voluntary  numbers,  if  ye  dare 
To  hope  longevity,  and  to  survive 
Your  master's  funeral,  not  soon  absorb'd 
In  the  oblivious  Leth^ean  gulf. 
Shall  to  futurity  perhaps  convey 
This  theme,  and  by  these  praises  of  my  siro 
Improve  the  fathers  of  a  distant  age ! 


TO  SALSILLUS,  A  ROMAN  POET,  MUCH  INDISPOSED. 

The  original  is  written  in  a  measure  called  Scazon,  which  signifies  limp- 
ing", and  the  measure  is  so  denominated,  because,  though  in  other  respects 
Iambic,  it  terminates  with  a  Spondee,  and  lias,  consequently,  a  more  tardy 
movement. 

The  reader  will  immediately  see  that  this  property  of  the  Latin  verse  can- 
not be  imitated  in  English 

My  halting  Muse,  that  dragg'st  by  choice  along 
Thy  slow,  slow  step,  in  melancholy  song, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  G29 

And  likcst  that  pace,  expressive  of  tliy  cares, 
Not  less  than  Deiopea's  spriglitlier  airs, 
AVhen  in  the  dance  she  beats  witli  nieasnred  tread 
Heaven's  floor,  in  front  of  Juno's  golden  bed; 
Salute  Salsillus,  who  to  verse  divine 
Prefers,  with  partial  love,  sucli  lays  as  mine. 
Tlius  writes  that  Milton,  then,  wlio,  wafted  o'er 
From  his  own  nest  on  Albion's  stormy  shore, 
Where  Eurus,  fiercest  of  the  iEolian  band, 
Sweeps  w^ith  ungovern'd  rage  the  blasted  land — 
Of  late  to  more  serene  Ausonia  came 
To  view  her  cities  of  illustrious  name. 
To  prove,  himself  a  witness  of  the  truth. 
How  wise  her  elders  and  how  learn'd  her  youth. 
Much  good,  Salsillus !  and  a  body  free 
From  all  disease,  that  Milton  asks  for  thee, 
Who  now  endurest  the  languor  and  the  pains 
That  bile  inflicts,  diffused  through  all  thy  veins ; 
Relentless  malady !  not  moved  to  spare 
By  thy  sweet  Roman  voice  and  Lesbian  air  I 

Health,  Hebe's  sister,  sent  us  from  the  skies, 
And  thou,  Apollo,  whom  all  sickness  flies, 
Pythius,  or  Pa3an,  or  what  name  divine 
Soe'er  thou  choose,  haste,  heal  a  priest  of  thine ! 
Ye  groves  of  Faunus,  and  ye  hills  that  melt 
With  vinous  dews,  where  meek  Evander  dwelt! 
If  aught  salubrious  in  your  confines  grow. 
Strive  which  shall  soonest  heal  your  poet's  woe! 
That,  render'd  to  the  Muse  he  loves,  again 
He  may  enchant  the  meadows  with  his  strain. 
Numa,  reclined  in  everlasting  ease 
Amid  the  shade  of  dark  embowering  trees. 
Viewing  with  eyes  of  unabated  fire 
His  loved  ^geria,  shall  that  strain  admire : 
So  soothed,  the  tumid  Tiber  shall  revere 
The  tombs  of  kings,  nor  desolate  the  year — 
Shall  curb  his  waters  with  a  friendly  rein. 
And  guide  them  harmless^  till  they  meet  the  main. 


6^S0  cowper's  poetical  works. 

TO  GIOYA^^JSri  BATTISTA  MANSO, 
marquis  of  villa. 

Milton's  account  of  manso. 

Giovanni  Battista  Manso,  Marquis  of  Yilla,  is  an  Italian  nobleman  of  tho 
highest  estimation  among  his  countrymen,  for  genius,  literature,  and  military 
accomplishments.  To  him  Torquato  Tasso  addressed  his  Dialogues  on  Friend- 
ship, for  he  was  much  the  friend  of  Tasso,  who  has  also  celebrated  him  among 
the  other  princes  of  Ids  country,  in  his  poem,  entitled,  "Gerusalemme  Con- 
quistata,"  book  xx. 

Fra  cavalier  magnanimi,  e  cortesi, 

Risplende  il  Manso. 

During  the  author's  stay  at  Naples  he  received  at  the  hands  of  the  Marquis  a 
thousand  kind  oflices  and  civilities,  and,  desirous  not  to  appear  ungrateful, 
sent  him  this  poem  a  short  time  before  his  departure  from  that  city 

These  verses  also  to  thy  praise,  the  Nine, 

O  Manso !  happy  in  that  theme,  design ; 

For,  Gallus  and  Maecenas  gone,  they  see 

None  sncli  besides,  or  whom  they  love  as  thee ; 

And  if  my  verse  may  give  the  meed  of  fame. 

Thine  too  shall  prove  an  everlasting  name. 

Already  such,  it  shines  in  Tasso's  page 

(For  thou  wast  Tasso's  friend)  from  age  to  age ; 

And,  next,  the  Muse  consigned  (not  unaware 

How  high  the  charge)  Marino  to  thy  care. 

Who,  singing  to  the  nymphs  Adonis'  praise. 

Boasts  thee  the  patron  of  his  copious  lays. 

To  thee  alone  the  poet  Avould  intrust 

His  latest  vows,  to  thee  alone  his  dust ; 

And  thou  with  punctual  piety  liast  paid, 

In  labor'd  brass,  thy  tribute  to  his  shade. 

Nor  this  contented  thee — but,  lest  the  grave 

Should  auglit  absorb  of  theirs  which  thou  couldst  save, 

All  future  ages  thou  hast  deign'd  to  teach 

The  life,  lot,  genius,  character  of  each. 

Eloquent  as  tiie  Carian  sage,  who,  true 

To  his  great  theme,  the  life  of  Homer  drew. 

I,  therefore,  though  a  stranger  youth,  who  come, 
ChilPd  by  rude  blasts  that  freeze  my  northern  home, 
Thee  dear  to  Clio,  confident  proclaim, 
And  thine,  for  Phoebus'  sake,  a  deathless  name. 
Nor  thou,  so  kind,  wilt  view  with  scornful  eye 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  631 

A  Muse  scarce  rear'cl  beneath  our  sullen  sky, 

AVho  fears  not,  indiscreet  as  she  is  young, 

To  seek  in  Latium  hearers  of  her  song. 

AVe  too,  Avhere  Thames  with  its  unsullied  waves 

The  tresses  of  the  blue-hair\l  Ocean  laves, 

Hear  oft  by  night,  or,  slumbering,  seem  to  hear. 

O'er  his  wide  stream,  the  swan's  voice  warbling  clear; 

And  we  could  boast  a  Tityrus  of  yore 

AYlio  trod,  a  welcome  guest,  your  happy  shore. 

Yes — dreary  as  we  own  our  northern  clime, 
Even  we  to  Phoebus  raise  the  polish'd  rhyme ; 
We  too  serve  Phoebus ;  Phoebus  has  received 
(If  legions  old  may  claim  to  be  believed) 
No  sordid  gifts  from  us,  the  golden  ear. 
The  burnish'd  apple,  ruddiest  of  the  year. 
The  fragrant  crocus,  and,  to  grace  his  fane, 
Fair  damsels  chosen  from  the  Druid  train; 
Druids,  our  native  bards  in  ancient  time, 
Who  gods  and  heroes  praised  in  halloAv'd  rhyme  ! 
Hence,  often  as  the  maids  of  Greece  surround 
Apollo's  shrine  with  liymns  of  festive  sound. 
They  named  the  virgins  who  arrived  of  yore 
With  British  offerings  on  the  Dehan  shore — 
Loxo,  from  giant  Corineus  sprung, 
Upis,  on  whose  blest  lips  the  future  hung. 
And  Hacaerge,  with  the  golden  hair. 
All  deck'd  with  Pictish  hues,  and  all  with  bosoms  bare. 

Tliou,  therefore,  happy  sage,  whatever  cUme 
Shall  ring  with  Tasso's  praise  in  after  time. 
Or  with  Marino's,  slialt  be  known  their  friend, 
And  with  an  equal  flight  to  fame  ascend. 
The  world  shall  hear  how  Phoebus  and  the  Nine 
Were  inmates  once,  and  willing  guests  of  thine. 
Yet  Phoebus,  wiien  of  old  constrain'd  to  roam 
The  earth,  an  exile  from  his  heavenly  home, 
Enter'd,  no  willing  guest,  Admetus'  door. 
Though  Hercules  had  ventured  there  before. 
But  gentle  Chiron's  cave  was  near,  a  scene 
Of  rural  peace,  clothed  with  perpetual  green  ; 
And  thither,  oft  as  respite  he  required, 
From  rustic  clamors  loud,  the  god  retired. 
There,  many  a  time,  on  Peneus'  bank  reclined 
At  some  oak's  root,  with  ivy  thick  entAvined, 


632  cowper's  poetical  works. 

AYon  by  his  hospitable  friend's  ciesire, 
He  soothed  his  pains  of  exile  with  tlie  lyre. 
Then  shook  the  hills,  then  trembled  Peneus'  shore, 
Kor  (Eta  felt  his  load  of  forest  more ; 
The  upland  elms  descended  to  the  plain, 
And  soften'd  lynxes  wonder'd  at  that  strain. 
Well  may  we  think,  oh,  dear  to  all  above ! 
Thy  birth  distinguish'd  by  the  smile  of  Jove, 
x\nd  that  Apollo  shed  his  kindhest  power. 
And  Maia's  son,  on  that  propitious  hour  ; 
Since  only  minds  so  born  can  comprehend 
A  poet's  worth,  or  yield  that  worth  a  friend. 
Hence  on  thy  yet  unfaded  cheek  appears 
The  lingering  freshness  of  thy  greener  years  ; 
Hence  in  thy  front  and  features  we  admire 
Nature  unwither'd  and  a  mind  entire. 
Oh,  might  so  true  a  friend  to  me  belong, 
So  skill'd  to  grace  the  votaries  of  song ! 
Should  I  recall  hereafter  into  rhyme 
The  kings  and  heroes  of  my  native  clime — 
Arthur  the  chief,  who  even  now  prepares, 
In  subterraneous  being,  future  wars. 
With  all  his  martial  knights,  to  be  restored 
Each  to  Ills  seat  around  the  federal  board ; 
And  oh,  if  spirit  fail  me  not,  disperse 
Our  Saxon  plunderers  in  triumphant  verse  !— 
Then,  after  all,  when,  with  the  past  content, 
A  life  I  finish,  not  in  silence  spent ; 
Should  he,  kind  mourner,  o'er  my  death-bed  bend, 
I  shall  but  need  to  say — '•^  Be  yet  my  friend  !" 
He  too,  perhaps,  shall  bid  the  marble  breathe 
To  honor  me,  and  with  the  graceful  wreath 
Or  of  Parnassus  or  the  Paphian  isle 
Shall  bind  my  brows — but  I  shall  rest  the  while. 
Then  also,  if  the  fruits  of  Faith  endure. 
And  Virtue's  promised  recompense  be  sure  ; 
Borne  to  those  seats  to  which  the  blest  aspire 
By  purity  of  soul  and  virtuous  fire, 
These  rites,  as  Fate  permits,  I  shall  survey 
With  eyes  illumined  by  celestial  day ; 
And,  every  cloud  from  my  pure  spirit  driven, 
Joy  in  the  bright  beatitude  of  Heaven ! 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  633 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  DAMOK 

ARGUMENT.— Thyrsis  and  Damon,  shepherds  and  neighbors,  had  always  pursued 
the  sjimo  studies,  and  had,  from  their  earliest  days,  been  united  in  the  closest 
friendship.  Thyrsis,  while  travelling  for  improvement,  received  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  Damon,  and  after  a  time,  returning  and  finding  it  true,  deplores 
himself,  and  his  solitary  condition,  in  this  poem. 

By  Damon  is  to  be  understood  Charles  Deodati,  connected  with  the  Italian  city  of 
liucca  by  his  father's  side,  in  other  respects  an  Englishman ;  a  youth  of  uncom- 
mon genius,  erudition,  and  virtue. 

Ye  Kymphs  of  Himera  (for  ye  have  shed 

Erev/liile  for  Daphnis,  and  for  Hylas  dead, 

And  over  Bion's  long-lamented  bier, 

The  fruitless  meed  of  many  a  sacred  tear), 

Now  through  the  villas  laved  by  Thames  rehearse 

The  woes  of  Thyrsis  in  Sicilian  verse, 

What  sighs  he  lieaved,  and  how,  with  groans  profound, 

He  made  the  woods  and  hollow  rocks  resound, 

Young  Damon  dead ;  nor  even  ceased  to  pour 

His  lonely  sorrows  at  the  midniglit  hour! 

The  green  wheat  twice  had  nodded  in  the  ear. 
And  golden  harvest  twice  enriched  the  year. 
Since  Damon's  lips  had  gaspVl  for  vital  air 
The  last,  last  time,  nor  Thyrsis  yet  was  there ; 
For  he,  enamor'd  of  the  Muse,  remained 
In  Tuscan  Fjorenza  long  detain'd ; 
But,  stored  at  length  with  all  he  wish'd  to  learn, 
For  his  flock's  sake,  now  hasted  to  return ; 
And  when  the  shepherd  had  resumed  his  seat 
At  the  elm's  root,  within  his  old  retreat, 
,    Then  'twas  his  lot  then  all  his  loss  to  know. 

And  from  his  burden'd  heart  he  vented  thus  his  woe : 

*'  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Alas  !  what  deities  shall  I  suppose 
In  heaven,  or  earth,  concern'd  for  human  woes, 
Since,  oh  my  Damon  !  their  severe  decree 
So  soon  condenms  me  to  regret  of  thee ! 
Depart'st  thou  thus,  thy  virtues  unrepaid 
With  fame  and  honor,  like  a  vulgar  shade? 
Let  him  forbid  it,  whose  bright  rod  controls. 
And  separates  sordid  from  ilhistrious  souls, 
Drive  far  the  rabble,  and  to  thee  assign 


G34  cowper's  poetical  works. 

A  liappier  lot  with  spirits  worthy  thine ! 

— ''  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  hmibs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 

To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 

Whatever  befall,  unless  by  cruel  chance 

The  wolf  first  give  me  a  forbidding  glance, 

Thou  shalt  not  moulder  undeplored,  but  long 

Thy  praise  shall  dwell  on  every  shepherd's  tongue. 

To  Daphnis  first  they  shall  delight  to  pay, 

xYnd,  after  him,  to  thee  the  votive  lay. 

While  Pales  shall  the  flocks  and  pastures  love, 

Or  Faunus  to  frequent  the  field  or  grove ; 

At  least,  if  ancient  piety  and  truth, 

With  all  the  learned  labors  of  thy  youth, 

May  serve  thee  aught,  or  to  have  left  behind 

A  sorrowing  friend,  and  of  the  tunelul  kind. 

'^  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Who  now  my  pains  and  perils  shall  divide, 
As  thou  wast  wont,  forever  at  my  side. 
Both  when  the  rugged  frost  annoy'd  our  feet. 
And  when  the  herbage  all  was  parch'd  with  heat; 
'Whether  the  grim  wolf's  ravage  to  prevent. 
Or  the  huge  lion's,  arm'd  with  darts  we  went ; 
Whose  converse  now  shall  calm  my  ^-tormy  day. 
With  charming  song  Avho  now  beguile  my  way  ? 

^'  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
In  whom  shall  I  confide?     Whose  counsel  find 
A  balmy  medicine  for  my  troubled  mind? 
Or  whose  discourse  with  innocent  delight 
Shall  fill  me  now,  and  cheat  the  wintry  night. 
While  hisses  on  my  hearth  the  pulpy  pear, 
And  blackening  chestnuts  start  and  crackle  there. 
While  storms  abroad  the  dreary  meadows  whelm. 
And  the  wind  thunders  througli  the  neighboring  elm? 

''  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Or  who,  wlien  summer  suns  their  summit  reach, 
■     And  Pan  sleeps  hidden  by  the  sheltering  beech ; 
When  shepherds  disappear,  nymphs  seek  the  sedge, 
And  the  stretch'd  rustic  snores  beneath  the  hedge, 
Who  then  shall  render  me  thy  pleasant  vein 
Of  Attic  wit,  thy  jests,  thy  smiles  again? 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  635 

"  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Where  glens  and  vales  are  thickest  overgrown 
With  tangled  boughs,  I  wander  now  alone. 
Till  night  descend,  while  blustering  wind  and  shower 
Beat  on  my  temples  through  the  shatter'd  bower. 

'^  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Alas !  what  rampant  weeds  now  shame  my  fields. 
And  what  a  mildewed  crop  the  furrow  yields ! 
My  rambling  vines,  unwedded  to  the  trees. 
Bear  shrivelPd  grapes ;  my  myrtles  fail  to  please  ; 
Nor  please  me  more  my  flocks :  they,  slighted  turn 
Their  unavailing  looks  on  me,  and  mourn.  / 

'^  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
^gon  invites  me  to  the  hazel  grove, 
Amyntas,  on  the  river'^s  bank  to  rove. 
And  young  Alphesibosus  to  a  seat 
AVhere  branching  elms  exclude  the  mid-day  heat. 
*  Here  fountains  spring — here  mossy  hillocks  rise ; 
Here  Zephyr  whispers,  and  the  stream  replies.' — 
Thus  each  persuades,  but,  deaf  to  every  call, 
I  gain  the  thickets,  and  escape  them  all. 

^'  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are  due 
To  other  cares  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Then  Mopsus  said  (the  same  who  reads  so  well 
The  voice  of  birds,  and  what  the  stars  foretell. 
For  he  by  chance  had  noticed  iny  return), 
'What  means  thy  sullen  mood,  this  deep  concern? 
Ah,  Thyrsis,  thou  art  either  crazed  with  love. 
Or  some  sinister  influence  from  above; 
Dull  Saturn's  influence  oft  the  shepherds  rue ; 
His  leaden  shaft  oblique  has  pierced  thee  through.' 

''  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastured  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
The  Nymphs,  amazed,  my  melancholy  see. 
And,  '  Thyrsis !'  cry — '  what  will  become  of  thee  ? 
What  wouldst  thou,  Thyrsis  ?  such  should  not  appear 
The  brow  of  youth,  stern,  gloomy,  and  severe ; 
Brisk  youth  should  laugh  and  love — ah,  shun  the  fate 
Of  tliose,  twice  wretched  mopes,  who  love  too  late!' 

'^  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastured  as  ye  are  * 


636  cowper's  poetical  works. 

My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
■  ^gle  with  Hyas  came,  to  soothe  my  pain, 
And  Baucis'  daughter,  Dryope,  the  vain — 
Fair  Dryope,  for  voice  and  finger  neat 
Known  far  and  near,  and  for  her  self-conceit; 
Ohloris  too  came,  Avhose  cottage  on  the  lands 
That  skirt  the  Idumanian  current  stands ; 
But  all  in  vain  they  came,  and  but  to  see 
Kind  Avords,  and  comfortable,  lost  on  me. 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastured  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Ah,  blest  indifference  of  the  playful  herd, 
None  by  his  fellow  chosen,  or  preferred ! 
No  bonds  of  amity  the  flocks  enthrall. 
But  each  associates,  and  is  pleased  with  all. 
So  graze  the  dappled  deer  in  numerous  droves, 
And  all  his  kind  alike  the  zebra  loves ; 
That  same  law  governs,  where  the  billows  roar, 
And  Proteus'  shoals  o'erspread  the  desert  shore ; 
The  sparrow,  meanest  of  the  feather'd  race. 
His  fit  companion  finds  in  every  place. 
With  whom  he  picks  the  grain  that  suits  him  best, 
Flirts  here  and  there,  and  late  returns  to  rest ; 
And  whom,  if  chance  the  falcon  makes  his  prey, 
Or  hedger  with  his  well-aim'd  arrow  slay ; 
For  no  such  loss  the  gay  survivor  grieves. 
New  love  he  seeks,  and  new  delight  receives. 
We  only,  an  obdurate  kind,  rejoice, 
Scorning  all  others,  in  a  single  choice. 
We  scarce  in  thousands  meet  one  kindred  mind; 
And  if  the  long-sought  good  at  last  we  find. 
When  least  we  fear  it.  Death  our  treasure  steals, 
And  gives  our  heart  a  wound  that  nothing  heals. 

*'  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastured  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Ah,  what  delusion  lured  me  from  my  flocks. 
To  traverse  Alpine  snows  and  rugged  rocks? 
What  need  so  great  had  I  to  visit  Rome, 
Now  sunk  in  ruins,  and  herself  a  tomb  ? 
Or,  had  she  flourish'd  still,  as  when,  of  old, 
For  her  sake  Tityrus  forsook  his  fold. 
What  need  so  great  had  I  to  incur  a  pause 
Of  thy  sweet  intercourse  for  such  a  cause — 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  637 

For  such  a  cause  to  place  the  roaring  sea, 

Rocks,  mountains,  woods,  between  my  friend  and  me? 

Else,  had  I  grasp'd  thy  feeble  hand,  composed 

Thy  decent  limbs,  thy  drooping  eyelids  closed, 

And,  at  the  last,  had  said — '  Farewell — ascend — 

Nor  even  in  the  skies  forget  thy  friend !' 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  fare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Although  well  pleased,  ye  tuneful  Tuscan  swains ! 
My  mind  the  memory  of  your  worth  retains ; 
Yet  not  your  worth  can  teach  me  less  to  mourn 
My  Damon  lost. — lie  too  was  Tuscan  born, 
Born  in  your  Lucca,  city  of  renown  I 
And  wit  possess'd,  and  genius,  like  your  own. 
Oh,  how  elate  was  I,  when,  stretch'd  beside 
The  murmuring  course  of  Arno's  breezy  tide. 
Beneath  the  poplar  grove  I  passed  my  hours — 
Now  cropping  myrtles,  and  now  vernal  flowers ; 
And  hearing,  as  I  lay  at  ease  along. 
Your  swains  contending  for  the  prize  of  song ! 
I  also  dared  attempt  (and,  as  it  seems, 
Not  much  displeased  attempting)  various  themes ; 
For  even  I  can  presents  boast  from  you. 
The  shepherd's  pipe,  and  ozier  basket  too ; 
And  Dati  and  Francini  both  have  made 
My  name  familiar  to  the  beechen  shade  ; 
And  they  are  learn'd,  and  each  in  every  place 
Renown'd  for  song,  and  both  of  Lydian  race. 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  fare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
"While  bright  the  dewy  grass  with  moonbeams  shone, 
And  I  stood  hurdling  in  my  kids  alone, 
How  often  have  I  said  (but  thou  hast  found 
Ere  then  thy  dark  cold  lodgment  underground), 
Now  Damon  sings,  or  springes  sets  for  hares. 
Or  wickerwork  for  various  use  prepares ! 
How  oft,  indulging  fancy,  have  I  plann'd 
New  scenes  of  pleasure  that  I  lioped  at  hand ! 
Oall'd  thee  abroad  as  I  was  wont,  and  cried — 
'  Wliat,  hoa !  my  friend — come,  lay  thy  task  aside ; 
Haste,  let  us  forth  together,  and  beguile 
The  heat  beneath  yon  whispering  shades  awhile ; 
Or  on  the  margin  stray  of  Oolne's  clear  flood, 

54: 


638  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  where  Oassibelan's  gray  turrets  stood ! 
There  thou  shalt  cull  me  simples,  and  shalt  teach 
Thy  friend  the  name  and  liealing  powers  of  each ; 
Froni  the  tall  bluebell  to  the  dwarfish  weed, 
What  the  dry  land,  and  what  the  marshes  breed ; 
For  all  their  kinds  alike  to  thee  are  known, 
And  the  whole  art  of  Galen  is  thy  own.' 
Ah,  perish  Galen's  art,  and  withered  be 
The  useless  herbs  tliat  gave  not  health  to  thee ! 
Twelve  evenings  since,  as  in  poetic  dream, 
I  meditating  sat  some  statelier  theme. 
The  reeds  no  sooner  touch'd  my  lip,  though  new, 
And  unessay'd  before,  than  wide  they  flew. 
Bursting  their  waxen  bands,  nor  could  sustaia 
Tlie  deep-toned  music  of  the  solemn  strain ; 
And  I  am  vain  perhaps,  but  I  will  tell 
How  proud  a  theme  I  chose — ye  groves,  farewell. 
''  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  fare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Of  Brutus,  Dardan  chief,  my  song  shall  be — 
How  with  his  barks  he  ploughed  the  British  sea, 
First  from  Rutupia's  towering  headland  seen, 
And  of  his  consort's  reign,  fair  Imogen ; 
Of  Brennus  and  Belinus,  brothers  bold, 
And  of  Arviragus ;  and  how  of  old 
Our  hardy  sires  the  Armorican  controll'd ; 
And  of  the  wife  of  Gorlois,  who,  surprised 
By  Uther,  in  her  husband's  form  disguised 
(Such  was  the  force  of  Merlin's  art),  became 
Pregnant  with  Arthur  of  heroic  fame. 
These  themes  I  now  revolve — and  oh! — if  Fate 
Proportion  to  these  themes  my  lengthen'd  date, 
Adieu  my  shepherd's  reed — yon  pine-tree  bough 
Shall  be  thy  future  home,  there  dangle  thou 
Forgotten  and  disused,  unless  ere  long 
Thou  change  thy  Latian  for  a  British  song : 
A  British? — even  so — the  powers  of  man 
Are  bounded ;  little  is  the  most  he  can ; 
And  it  shall  well  suffice  me,  and  shall  be 
Fame  and  proud  recompense  enough  for  me, 
If  Usa,  golden-hair'd,  my  verse  may  learn ; 
If  Alain  bending  o'er  his  crystal  urn, 
Swift- whirling  Abra,  Trent's  o'ershadow'd  stream, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    MILTON.  \5\ 

Thames,  lovelier  far  than  all  in  my  esteem, 
Tamar's  ore-tinctured  flood,  and,  after  these. 
The  wave-worn  shores  of  utmost  Orcades. 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  fare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
All  this  I  kept  in  leaves  of  laurel  rind 
Enfolded  safe,  and  for  tliy  view  designed, 
This — and  a  gift  from  Manso's  hand  beside 
(Manso,  not  least  his  native  city's  pride). 
Two  cups  that  radiant  as  their  giver  shone, 
Adorn'd  by  sculpture  with  a  double  zone. 
The  spring  was  graven  there ;  here  slowly  wind 
The  Red  Sea  shores  with  groves  of  spices  lined ; 
Her  plumes  of  various  hues  amid  the  boughs 
The  sacred,  solitary  Phoenix  shows. 
And,  watchful  of  the  dawn,  reverts  her  head 
To  see  Aurora  leave  her  watery  bed. 
— In  other  part,  the  expansive  vault  above. 
And  there  too,  even  there,  the  god  of  love ; 
With  quiver  arm'd  he  mounts,  his  torch  displays 
A  vivid  light,  his  gem-tipt  arrows  blaze; 
Around  his  bright  and  fiery  eyes  he  rolls, 
Nor  aims  at  vulgar  minds  or  little  souls ; 
Nor  deigns  one  look  below,  but,  aiming  high, 
Sends  every  arrow  to  the  lofty  sky ; 
Hence  forms  divine,  and  minds  immortal,  learn 
The  power  of  Cupid,  and  enamor'd  burn. 

"  Thou,  also,  Damon  (neither  need  I  fear 
That  hope  delusive),  thou  art  also  there ; 
For  whither  should  simplicity  like  thine 
Eetire,  where  else  should  spotless  virtue  shine  ? 
Thou  dwelFst  not  (thought  profone)  in  shades  below, 
Nor  tears  suit  thee — cease  then,  my  tears,  to  flow. 
Away  with  grief:  on  Damon  ill  bestowVl! 
Who,  pure  himself,  has  found  a  pure  abode. 
Has  pass'd  the  showery  arch,  henceforth  resides 
With  saints  and  heroes,  and  from  flowing  tides 
Quaffs  copious  immortality  and  joy 
With  hallow 'd  lips ! — Oh  !  blest  without  alloy. 
And  now  enrich'd  with  all  that  faith  can  claim — 
Look  down,  entreated  by  whatever  name, 
If  Damon  please  thee  most  (that  rural  sound 
Shall  oft  with  echoes  fill  the  groves  around), 


640  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Or  if  Deodatus^  by  which  alone 
In  those  ethereal  mansions  thou  art  known. 
Thy  blush  was  maiden,  and  thy  youth  the  taste 
Of  wedded  bliss  knew  never ;  pure  and  chaste, 
The  honors,  therefore,  by  divine  decree 
The  lot  of  virgin  worth,  are  given  to  thee : 
Thy  brows  encircled  witli  a  radiant  band. 
And  the  green  palm-branch  waving  in  thy  hand, 
Thou  in  immortal  nuptials  slialt  rejoice. 
And  join  with  seraphs  tliy  according  voice; 
Where  rapture  reigns,  and  the  ecstatic  lyre 
Guides  the  blest  orgies  of  the  blazing  quire." 


AN  ODE,  ADDRESSED  TO  MR.  JOHN"  ROUSE, 

LIBRARIAN   OF  THE  UNIVERSITY   OP  OXFORD, 

ON  A  LOST  VOLUME  OF  MY  POEMS,  WHICH  HE  DESIRED  ME  TO 
REPLACE,  THAT  HE  MIGHT  ADD  THEM  TO  MV  OTHER  WORKS 
DEPOSITED  IN  THE  LIBRARY. 

This  ode  is  rendered  without  rhyme,  that  it  might  more  adequately 
represent  the  original,  which,  as  Milton  himself  informs  us,  is  of  no 
certain  measure.  It  may  possibly  for  this  reason  disappoint  the  reader, 
though  it  cost  the  writer  more  labor  than  the  translation  of  any  ether 
piece  in  the  whole  collection. 

STROPHE. 

My  twofold  book !  single  in  show. 

But  double  in  contents. 
Neat,  but  not  curiously  adorn'd, 

Which,  in  his  early  youth, 
A  poet  gave,  no  lofty  one  in  truth, 
Although  an  earnest  wooer  of  the  Muse — 
Say,  while  in  cool  Ausonian  shades 

Or  British  wilds  he  roam'd, 
Striking  by  turns  his  native  lyre, 

By  turns  the  Daunian  lute. 

And  stepp'd  almost  in  air, — 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Say,  little  book,  what  furtive  hand 
Thee  from  thy  fellow  books  conveyVl, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM   MILTON.  641 

"What  time,  at  the  repeated  suit 
Of  my  most  learned  friend, 
I  sent  thee  forth,  an  honor'd  travellt3r, 
From  our  great  city  to  tlie  source  of  Thames, 

Cicrulean  sire ! 
Where  rise  the  fountains,  and  the  raptures  ring, 
Of  the  Aonian  choir, 
Durable  as  yonder  spheres, 
And  through  the  endless  lapse  of  years 
Secure  to  be  admired? 


STROPHE  II. 

^ow  what  god,  or  demigod, 
For  Britain's  ancient  genius  move 

(If  our  afflicted  land 
Have  expiated  at  length  the  guilty  sloth 
Of  her  degenerate  sons), 
Shall  terminate  our  impious  feuds. 
And  DiscipUne  with  hallow'd  voice  recall? 
Recall  the  Muses  too, 
Driven  from  their  ancient  seats 
In  Albion,  and  well-nigh  from  Albion's  shore, 
And,  with  keen  Phoebean  shafts 
Piercing  the  unseemly  birds. 
Whose  talons  menace  us, 
Shall  drive  the  Harpy  race  from  Helicon  afar« 


ANTISTROPHE. 

But  thou,  my  book,  though  thou  hast  stray'd. 

Whether  by  treacliery  lost. 
Or  indolent  neglect,  thy  bearer's  fault. 
From  all  thy  kindred  books, 
To  some  dark  cell  or  cave  forlorn. 

Where  thou  endurest,  perhaps. 
The  chafing  of  some  hard  untutor'd  hand, 
Be  comforted — 
For  lo!  again  the  s])lendid  hope  appears 

That  thou  mayst  yet  escape 
The  gulfs  of  Lethe,  and  on  oary  wings 
Mount  to  the  everlasting  courts  of  Jove ! 


642  cowper's  poetical  works. 

strophe  iii. 

Since  Rouse  desires  tliee,  and  complains, 
That,  though  by  promise  his, 
Thou  yet  appear'st  not  in  thy  place 
Among  the  literary  noble  stores 
Given  to  his  care, 
But,  absent,  leavest  his  numbers  incomplete. 
He,  therefore,  guardian  vigilant 
Of  that  unperishing  wealth, 
Calls  thee  to  the  interior  shrine,  his  charge, 
Where  he  intends  a  richer  treasure  far 
Than  Ion  kept  (Ion,  Erectheus'  son 
Illustrious,  of  the  fair  Creiisa  born) 
In  the  resplendent  temple  of  his  god. 
Tripods  of  gold,  and  Delphic  gifts  divine. 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Haste,  then,  to  the  pleasant  groves, 
The  Muses'  favorite  haunt ; 
Resume  thy  station  in  Apollo's  dome, 

Dearer  to  him 
Than  Delos,  or  the  fork'd  Parnassian  hill ! 

Exulting  go. 
Since  now  a  splendid  lot  is  also  thine, 
And  thou  art  sought  by  my  propitious  friend ; 
For  there  thou  shalt  be  read 
AVith  authors  of  exalted  note, 
The  ancient  glorious  hghts  of  Greece  and  Rome ! 


Ye,  then,  my  works,  no  longer  vain, 

And  worthless  deem'd  by  me ! 
Whate'er  this  sterile  genius  has  produced. 
Expect,  at  last,  the  rage  of  envy  spent, 
An  unmolested  happy  home, 
Gift  of  kind  Hermes,  and  my  watchful  friend ; 
Where  never  flippant  tongue  profane 
Shall  entrance  tind. 
And  whence  the  coarse  unletter'd  multitude 
Shall  babble  far  remote. 
Perhaps  some  future  distant  age. 
Less  tinged  with  prejudice,  and  better  taught. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM   MILTON.  643 

Shall  furnish  minds  of  power 
To  judge  more  equally. 
Then,  malice  silenced  in  the  tomb, 
Cooler  heads  and  sounder  hearts. 
Thanks  to  Rouse,  if  aught  of  praise 
I  merit,  shall  with  candor  weigh  the  claim. 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  THE  ITALIAN  POEMS. 


SONNET. 

Fair  Lady !  whose  harmonious  name  the  Rhine, 
Through  all  his  grassy  vale,  delights  to  hear, 
Base  were  indeed  the  wretch  who  could  forbear 

To  love  a  spirit  elegant  as  thine, 

That  manifests  a  sweetness  all  divine. 

Nor  knows  a  thousand  winning  acts  to  spare, 
And  graces,  which  Love's  bow  and  arrows  are, 

Tempering  thy  virtues  to  a  softer  shine. 

When  gracefully  thou  speak'st,  or  singest  gay 
Such  strains  as  might  the  senseless  forest  move, 

Ah,  then — turn  each  his  eyes  and  ears  away, 
Who  feels  himself  unworthy  of  thy  love ! 

Grace  can  alone  preserve  him  ere  the  dart 

Of  fond  desire  yet  reach  his  inmost  heart. 

SONNET. 

As  on  a  hill-top  rude,  when  closing  day 

Imbrowns  the  scene,  some  pastoral  maiden  fair 
Waters  a  lovely  foreign  plant  with  care, 

Borne  from  its  native  genial  airs  away, 

That  scarcely  can  its  tender  bud  display; 

So,  on  my  tongue  these  accents,  new  and  rare. 
Are  flowers  exotic,  which  Love  waters  there. 

While  thus,  0  sweetly  scornful !  I  essay 


644  COWPEll's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Thy  praise  in  verse  to  British  ears  unknown, 
And  Thames  exchange  for  Arno's  fair  domain ; 
So  Love  has  will'd,  and  ofttimes  Love  has  shown, 
That  what  he  wills,  he  never  wills  in  vain — 
Oh  that  this  hard  and  sterile  breast  might  be 
To  Him,  who  plants  from  Heaven,  a  soil  as  free ! 

CANZONE. 

They  mock  my  toil — the  nymphs  and  amorous  swains 
And  whence  this  fond  attempt  to  write,  they  cry, 
Love-songs  in  language  that  thou  little  know'st  ? 
How  darest  thou  risk  to  sing  these  foreign  strains  ? 
Say  truly. — Find'st  not  oft  thy  purpose  cross'd, 
And  that  thy  fairest  flowers  here  fade  and  die  ? 
Then  with  pretence  of  admiration  high — 
Thee  other  shores  expect,  and  other  tides, 
Kivers,  on  whose  grassy  sides 
Her  deathless  laurel  leaf,  with  which  to  bind 
Thy  flowing  locks,  already  Fame  provides ; 
Why  then  this  burden,  better  far  decHned  ? 

Speak,  Muse !  for  me — the  fair  one  said,  who  guides 
My  willing  heart,  and  all  my  fancy's  flights, 
"  This  is  the  language  in  which  Love  delights." 

SONNET,  TO  CHARLES  DEODATI. 

Chaeles — and  I  sing  it  wondering — thou  must  know 
That  I,  who  once  assumed  a  scornful  air 
And  scoff'd  at  Love,  am  fallen  in  his  snare — 
(Full  many  an  upright  man  has  fallen  so) : 
Yet  think  me  not  thus  dazzled  by  the  flow 
Of  golden  locks,  or  damask  cheek ;  more  rare 
The  heartfelt  beauties  of  my  foreign  fair : 
A  mien  majestic,  with  dark  brows  that  show 
The  tranquil  lustre  of  a  lofty  mind ; 
Words  exquisite,  of  idoms  more  than  one. 
And  song,  whose  fascinating  power  might  bind, 
And  from  her  sphere  draw  down  the  laboring  Moon; 
With  such  fire-darting  eyes  that,  should  I  fill 
My  ears  with  wax,  she  would  enchant  me  still. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM   MILTON.  645 

SONNET. 

Lady  !  It  cannot  be  but  that  thine  eyes 

Must  be  my  sun,  such  radiance  they  display, 
And  strike  me  even  as  Phoebus  him  whose  way 
Tlirough  horrid  Libya's  sandy  desert  lies. 
Meantime,  on  that  side  steamy  vapors  rise 
Wliere  most  I  suffer.     Of  what  kind  are  they, 
New  as  to  me  they  are,  I  cannot  say. 
But  deem  them,  in  the  lover's  language — sighs. 
Some,  though  with  pain,  my  bosom  close  conceals, 
Which,  if  in  part  escaping  thence,  they  tend 
To  soften  thine,  thy  coldness  soon  congeals. 
While  others  to  my  tearful  eyes  ascend. 
Whence  my  sad  nights  in  showers  are  ever  drown'd. 
Till  my  Aurora  comes,  her  brow  with  roses  bound. 

SONNET. 

Enamor'd,  artless,  young,  on  foreign  ground. 

Uncertain  whither  from  myself  to  fly ; 

To  thee,  dear  Lady,  with  an  humble  sigh 
Let  me  devote  my  heart,  which  I  have  found, 
By  certain  proofs,  not  few,  intrepid,  sound. 

Good,  and  addicted  to  conceptions  high : 

When  tempests  shake  the  world,  and  fire  the  sky, 
It  rests  in  adamant  self- wrapt  around. 
As  safe  from  envy  as  from  outrage  rude. 
From  hopes  and  fears  that  vulgar  minds  abuse, 
As  fond  of  genius,  and  fix'd  fortitude. 
Of  the  resounding  lyre  and  every  Muse. 
Weak  you  will  find  it  in  one  only  part, 
Kow  pierced  by  Love's  immedicable  dart. 


TRANSUTIOKS 

FROM 

VIRGIL,  OVID,  HORACE,  HOMER,  ETC. 


THE  SALAD,  BY  VIKGIL. 

The  winter  niglit  now  well-nigh  worn  away, 
The  wakeful  cock  proclaim'd  approaching  day, 
"When  Simulus,  poor  tenant  of  a  farm 
Of  narrowest  limits,  heard  the  shrill  alarm, 
Yawn'd,  stretch'd  his  limbs,  and,  anxious  to  provide 
Against  the  pangs  of  hunger  unsupplied, 
By  slow  degrees  his  tatter'd  bed  forsook, 
And,  poking  in  the  dark,  explored  the  nook 
Where  embers  slept  with  ashes  heap'd  around, 
And  with  burnt  fingers'  ends  the  treasure  found. 
It  chanced  that  from  a  brand  beneath  his  nose, 
Sure  proof  of  latent  fire,  some  smoke  arose  ; 
When,  trimming  with  a  pin  the  incrusted  tow, 
And  stooping  it  towards  the  coals  below. 
He  toils,  with  cheeks  distended,  to  excite 
The  lingering  flame,  and  gains  at  length  a  light. 
With  prudent  heed  he  spreads  his  hand  before 
The  quivering  lamp,  and  opes  his  granary  door. 
Small  was  his  stock,  but  taking  for  the  day 
A  measured  stint  of  twice  eight  pounds  away, 
With  these  his  mill  he  seeks.     A  shelf  at  hand, 
Fix'd  in  the  wall,  affords  his  lamp  a  stand : 
Then  baring  both  his  arms — a  sleeveless  coat 
He  girds,  the  rough  exuviso  of  a  goat : 
And  with  a  rubber,  for  that  use  design'd. 
Cleansing  his  mill  within — begins  to  grind  : 
Each  hand  has  its  employ  ;  laboring  amain, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  647 

This  turns  the  winch,  while  that  supplies  the  grain. 
The  stone,  revolving  rapidly,  now  glows, 
.And  the  braised  corn  a  mealy  current  flows ; 
While  he,  to  make  his  heavy  labor  light. 
Tasks  oft  his  left  hand  to  relieve  his  right ; 
And  chants  with  rudest  accent,  to  beguile 
His  ceaseless  toil,  as  rude  a  strain  the  while. 
And  now,  "Dame  Cybale,  come  forth  !"  he  cries; 
But  Cybale,  still  slumbering,  naught  replies. 

From  Afric  she,  the  swain's  sole  serving-maid, 
"Whose  face  and  form  alike  her  birth  betray'd. 
With  woolly  locks,  lips  tumid,  sable  skin. 
Wide  bosom,  udders  flaccid,  belly  thin. 
Legs  slender,  broad  and  most  misshapen  feet, 
Chapp'd  into  chinks,  and  parch'd  with  solar  heat. 
Such,  summoned  oft,  she  came  ;  at  his  command 
Fresh  fuel  heap'd,  the  sleeping  embers  fann'd. 
And  made  in  haste  her  simmering  skillet  steam, 
Keplenish'd  newly  from  the  neighboring  stream. 

The  labors  of  the  mill  perform'd,  a  sieve 
The  mingled  flour  and  bran  must  next  receive, 
AVhich  shaken  oft  shoots  Ceres  through  refined, 
And  better  dress'd,  her  husks  all  left  behind. 
This  done,  at  once  his  future  plain  repast 
Unleaven'd  on  a  shaven  board  he  cast. 
With  tepid  lymph  first  largely  soak'd  it  all, 
Then  gather'd  it  with  both  hands  to  a  ball. 
And  spreading  it  again  with  both  hands  wide. 
With  sprinkled  salt  the  stififen'd  mass  supplied : 
At  length  the  stubborn  substance,  duly  wrought. 
Takes  from  his  palms  impress'd  the  shape  it  ought, 
Becomes  an  orb — and  quarter'd  into  shares. 
The  faithful  mark  of  just  division  bears  ; 
Last,  on  his  hearth  it  finds  convenient  space, 
For  Cybale  before  had  swept  the  place : 
And  there,  with  tiles  and  embers  overspread. 
She  leaves  it — reeking  in  its  sultry  bed. 

Nor  Simulus,  while  Yulcan  thus  alone 
His  part  performed,  proves  heedless  of  his  own. 
But  sedulous,  not  merely  to  subdue 
His  hunger,  but  to  please  his  palate  too, 
Prepares  more  savory  food.     His  chimney  side 
Could  boast  no  gammon,  salted  well  and  dried 


648  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  liook'd  behind  him  ;  but  sufficient  store 

Of  bundled  anise  and  a  cheese  it  bore ; 

A  broad  round  cheese,  which,  through  its  centre  strung 

With  a  tough  broom  twig,  in  the  corner  hung 

The  prudent  hero,  therefore,  with  address 

And  quick  dispatch,  now  seeks  another  mess. 

Close  to  his  cottage  lay  a  garden  ground, 
With  reeds  and  osiers  sparely  girt  around  : 
Small  was  the  spot,  but  liberal  to  produce, 
Nor  wanted  aught  to  serve  a  peasant's  use ; 
And  sometimes  even  the  rich  would  borrow  thence, 
Although  its  tillage  was  its  sole  expense. 
For  oft  as  from  his  toils  abroad  he  ceased. 
Home-bound  by  weather,  or  some  stated  feast, 
His  debt  of  culture  here  he  duly  paid. 
And  only  left  the  plough  to  wield  the  spade. 
He  knew  to  give  each  plant  the  soil  it  needs. 
To  drill  the  ground  and  cover  close  the  seeds ; 
And  could  with  ease  compel  the  wanton  rill 
To  turn  and  wind  obedient  to  his  will. 
There  flourished  starwort,  and  the  branching  beet, 
The  sorrel  acid,  and  the  mallow  sweet, 
The  skirret,  and  the  leek's  aspiring  kind, 
The  noxious  poppy — quencher  of  the  mind  ! 
Salubrious  sequel  of  a  sumptuous  board, 
The  lettuce,  and  the  long  huge-bellied  gourd : 
But  these  (for  none  his  appetite  controll'd 
With  stricter  sway)  the  thrifty  rustic  sold ; 
With  broom  twigs  neatly  bound,  each  kind  apart, 
He  bore  them  ever  to  the  public  mart : 
Whence  laden  still,  but  with  a  lighter  load. 
Of  cash  well  earn'd,  he  took  his  homeward  road, 
Expending  seldom,  ere  he  quitted  Rome, 
His  gains  in  flesh-meat  for  a  feast  at  home. 
There,  at  no  cost,  on  onions,  rank  and  red, 
Or  the  curlVl  endive's  bitter  leaf,  he  fed  : 
On  scallions  sliced,  or,  with  a  sensual  gust, 
On  rockets — foul  provocatives  of  lust ! 
Nor  even  shunn'd  with  smarting  gums  to  press 
Nasturtium — pungent  face-distorting  mess ! 

Some  such  regale  now  also  in  his  thought. 
With  hasty  steps  his  garden  ground  he  sought ; 
There,  delving  with  his  hands,  he  first  displaced 


TI'iANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  649 

Four  plants  of  garlic,  large,  and  rooted  fast ; 

The  tender  tops  of  parsley  next  he  culls. 

Then  the  old  rue-bush  shudders  as  he  pulls ; 

And  coriander  last  to  these  succeeds, 

That  hangs  on  slightest  threads  her  trembling  seeds. 

Placed  near  his  sprightly  fire,  he  now  demands 
The  mortar  at  his  sable  servant's  hands  ; 
When,  stripping  all  his  garlic  first,  he  tore 
The  exterior  coats,  and  cast  them  on  the  floor ; 
Then  cast  away  with  like  contempt  the  skin, 
Flimsier  concealment  of  the  cloves  within. 
These  search'd,  and  perfect  found,  he  one  by  one 
Einsed,  and  disposed  within  the  hollow  stone. 
Salt  added,  and  a  lump  of  salted  cheese, 
"With  his  injected  herbs  he  cover'd  these ; 
And,  tucking  with  his  left  his  tunic  tight, 
And  seizing  fast  the  pestle  with  his  right, 
The  garlic  bruising  first  he  soon  expressed, 
And  mix'd  the  various  juices  of  the  rest. 
He  grinds,  and  by  degrees  his  herbs  below, 
Lost  in  each  other,  their  own  powers  forego ; 
And  with  the  cheese  in  compound,  to  the  sight 
Nor  wholly  green  appear  nor  wholly  white. 
His  nostrils  oft  the  forceful  fume  resent. 
He  cursed  full  oft  his  dinner  for  its  scent ; 
Or,  with  wry  faces,  wiping  as  he  spoke 
The  trickhng  tears,  cried,  ''  Vengeance  on  the  smoke!'" 
The  work  proceeds ;  not  roughly  turns  he  now 
The  pestle,  but  in  circles  smooth  and  slow : 
"With  cautious  hand,  that  grudges  what  it  spills, 
Some  drops  of  olive  oil  he  next  instils  ; 
Then  vinegar  with  caution  scarcely  less ; 
And  gathering  to  a  ball  the  medley  mess, 
Last,  with  two  fingers  frugally  applied. 
Sweeps  the  small  remnant  from  the  mortar's  side; 
And,  thus  complete  in  figure  and  in  kind, 
Obtains  at  length  the  salad  he  design'd. 

And  now  black  Cybale  before  him  stands. 
The  cake,  drawn  newly,  glowing  in  her  hands; 
He  glad  receives  it,  chasing  far  away 
All  fears  of  famine  for  the  passing  day; 
His  legs  inclosed  in  buskins,  and  his  head 
In  its  tough  casque  of  leather,  forth  he  led 
55 


650  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  yoked  his  steers,  a  dull  obedient  pair; 
Then  drove  a-field,  and  plunged  the  pointed  share. 
June,  1799. 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VIRGIL 

^NEID,  BOOK  VIII.,  LINE  18. 

Thus  Italy  was  moved — nor  did  the  chief 

JEneas  in  his  mind  less  tumult  feel. 

On  every  side  his  anxious  thought  he  turns^ 

Restless,  unfixM,  not  knowing  what  to  choose. 

And  as  a  cistern  that  in  brim  of  brass 

Confines  the  crystal  flood,  if  chance  the  sun 

Smite  on  it,  or  the  moon's  resplendent  orb, 

The  quivering  light  now  flashes  on  the  walls, 

Now  leaps  uncertain  to  the  vaulted  roof : 

Such  were  the  wavering  motions  of  his  mind. 

'Twas  night — and  weary  nature  sunk  to  rest. 

The  birds,  the  bleating  flocks,  were  heard  no  more. 

At  length,  on  the  cold  ground,  beneath  the  damp 

And  dewy  vault,  fast  by  the  river's  brink, 

The  Father  of  his  country  sought  repose. 

When  lo !  among  the  spreading  poplar  boughs. 

Forth  from  his  pleasant  stream,  propitious  rose 

The  god  of  Tiber :  clear  transparent  gauze 

Enfolds  his  loins,  his  brows  with  reeds  are  crown'd ; 

And  these  his  gracious  words  to  soothe  his  care : 

"  Heaven-born,  who  bring'st  our  kindred  home  again, 
Rescued,  and  givest  eternity  to  Troy, 
Long  have  Laurentum  and  the  Latian  plains 
Expected  thee :  behold  thy  fix'd  abode. 
Fear  not  the  threats  of  war,  the  storm  is  past. 
The  gods  appeased.     For  proof  that  what  thou  hear'st 
Is  no  vain  forgery  or  delusive  dream. 
Beneath  the  grove  that  borders  my  green  bank, 
A  milk-white  swine,  with  thirty  milk-white  young, 
Shall  greet  thy  wondering  eyes.     Mark  well  the  place ; 
For  'tis  thy  place  of  rest,  there  end  thy  toils : 
There,  twice  ten  years  elapsed,  fair  Alba's  walls 
Shall  rise,  fair  Alba,  by  Ascanius'  hand. 
Thus  shall  it  be — now  listen,  while  I  teach 
The  means  to  accomplish  these  events  at  hand.  , 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  651 

The  Arcadians  here,  a  race  from  Pallas  sprung, 
Following  Evander's  standard  and  his  fate, 
High  on  these  mountains,  a  well  chosen  spot. 
Have  built  a  city,  for  their  grandsire's  sake 
Named  Pallanteum.     These  perpetual  war 
Wage  with  the  Latians :  join'd  in  faithful  league 
And  arms  confederate,  add  them  to  your  camp. 
Myself  between  my  winding  banks  will  speed 
Your  well-oar'd  barks  to  stem  the  opposing  tide. 
Rise,  goddess-born,  arise ;  and  with  the  first 
Declining  stars  seek  Juno  in  thy  prayer, 
And  vanquish  all  her  wrath  with  suppliant  vows. 
"When  conquest  crowns  thee,  then  remember  me. 
I  am  the  Tiber,  whose  caerulean  stream 
Heaven  favors  ;  I  with  copious  flood  divide 
These  grassy  banks,  and  cleave  the  fruitful  meads. 
My  mansion,  this — and  lofty  cities  crown 
My  fountain  head."— He  spoke  and  sought  the  deep, 
And  plunged  his  form  beneath  the  closing  flood. 

^neas  at  the  morning  dawn  awoke, 
And  rising,  with  uplifted  eye  beheld 
The  orient  sun,  then  dipp'd  his  palms,  and  scoop'd 
The  brimming  stream,  and  thus  address'd  the  skies : 
"  Ye  nymphs,  Laurentian  nymphs,  who  feed  the  source 
Of  many  a  stream,  and  thou,  with  thy  blest  flood, 
O  Tiber,  hear,  accept  me,  and  afford. 
At  length  afford,  a  shelter  from  my  woes. 
Where'er  in  sacred  cavern  under  ground 
Thy  waters  sleep,  where'er  they  spring  to  light. 
Since  thou  hast  pity  for  a  wretch  like  me. 
My  off*erings  and  my  vows  shall  wait  thee  still : 
Great  horned  Father  of  Hesperian  floods. 
Be  gracious  now,  and  ratify  thy  word!" 
He  said,  and  chose  two  galleys  from  his  fleet. 
Fits  them  with  oars,  and  clothes  the  crew  in  arms. 
When  lo !  astonishing  and  pleasing  sight. 
The  milk-white  dam,  with  her  unspotted  brood. 
Lay  stretch'd  upon  the  bank,  beneath  the  grove. 
To  thee,  the  pious  Prince,  Juno,  to  thee 
Devotes  them  all,  all  on  thine  altar  bleed ! 
That  livelong  night  old  Tiber  smoothed  his  flood, 
And  so  restrain'd  it,  that  it  seem'd  to  stand 
Motionless  as  a  pool,  or  silent  lake. 


652  COWPEr's    rOETICAL   WORKS. 

That  not  a  billow  might  resist  their  oars. 
"With  cheerful  sound  of  exhortation  soon 
Their  voyage  they  begin ;  the  pitchy  keel 
Slides  through  the  gentle  deep,  the  quiet  stream 
Admires  the  unwonted  burden  that  it  bears, 
Well-polish'd  arms,  and  vessels  painted  gay. 
Beneath  the  shade  of  various  trees,  between 
The  umbrageous  branches  of  the  spreading  groves, 
They  cut  their  liquid  wa}^,  nor  day  nor  night 
They  slack  their  course,  unwinding  as  they  go 
The  long  meanders  of  the  peaceful  tide. 

The  glowing  sun  was  in  meridian  height, 
When  from  afar  they  saw  the  humble  walls, 
And  the  few  scatter'd  cottages,  which  now 
The  Koman  power  has  equall'd  with  the  clouds ; 
But  such  was  then  Evander's  scant  domain. 
They  steer  to  shore,  and  hasten  to  the  town. 

It  chanced  the  Arcadian  monarch  on  that  day, 
Before  the  walls,  beneath  a  shady  grove. 
Was  celebrating  high,  in  solemn  feast, 
Alcides  and  his  tutelary  gods. 
Pallas,  his  son,  was  there,  and  there  the  chief 
Of  all  his  youth;  with  these,  a  worthy  tribe. 
His  poor  but  venerable  senate,  burnt 
Sweet  incense,  and  their  altars  smoked  with  blood. 
Soon  as  they  saw  the  towering  masts  approach. 
Sliding  between  the  trees,  while  the  crew  rest 
Upon  their  silent  oars,  amazed  they  rose, 
Kot  without  fear,  and  all  forsook  the  feast. 
But  Pallas,  undismay'd,  his  javelin  seized, 
Rush'd  to  the  bank,  and  from  a  rising  ground 
Forbade  them  to  disturb  the  sacred  rites. 
'•''  Ye  stranger  youth  !  what  prompts  you  to  explore 
This  untried  way  ?  and  whither  do  ye  steer  ? 
Whence,  and  who  are  ye  ?     Bring  ye  peace  or  war  ?'' 
^neas  from  his  lofty  deck  holds  forth 
The  peaceful  olive-branch,  and  thus  replies  : 
"  Trojans  and  enemies  to  the  Latian  state. 
Whom  they  with  unprovoked  hostilities 
Have  driven  away,  thou  seest.     We  seek  Evander : 
Say  this — and  say  beside,  the  Trojan  chiefs 
Are  come,  and  seek  his  friendship  and  his  aid," 
Pallas  with  wonder  heard  that  awful  name, 


[TJHIV„... 

TRANSLATIONS    FRO Wt  VIRGIL.  65 


V 


And  '-^  Whosoe'er  tliou  art,^'  he  cried,  "  come  forth  : 

Bear  tliiiie  own  tidings  to  my  father's  ear, 

And  be  a  welcome  guest  beneath  our  roof." 

He  said,  and  press'd  the  stranger  to  his  breast; 

Then  led  him  from  the  river  to  the  grove. 

Where,  courteous,  thus  ^neas  greets  the  king : 

"  Best  of  the  Grecian  race,  to  whom  I  bow 

(So  wills  my  fortune)  suppliant,  and  stretch  forth 

In  sign  of  amity  this  peaceful  branch, 

I  fear'd  thee  not,  although  I  knew  thee  well 

A  Grecian  leader,  born  in  Arcady, 

And  kinsman  of  the  Atridse.     Me  my  virtue. 

That  means  no  wrong  to  thee — the  Oracles, 

Our  kindred  families  allied  of  old. 

And  thy  renown  diffused  through  every  land, 

Have  all  conspired  to  bind  in  friendship  to  thee, 

And  send  me  not  unwilling  to  thy  shores. 

Dardanus,  author  of  the  Trojan  state 

(So  say  the  Greeks),  was  fair  Electra's  son ; 

Electra  boasted  Atlas  for  her  sire. 

Whose  shoulders  high  sustain  the  ethereal  orbs. 

Your  sire  is  Mercury,  whom  Maia  bore, 

Sweet  Maia,  on  Oyllene's  hoary  top. 

Her,  if  we  credit  aught  tradition  old, 

Atlas  of  yore,  the  self-same  Atlas,  claim'd 

His  daughter.     Thus  united  close  in  blood, 

Thy  race  and  ours  one  common  sire  confess. 

With  these  credentials  fraught,  I  would  not  send 

Ambassadors  with  artful  phrase  to  sound 

And  Avin  thee  by  degrees — but  came  myself. 

Me,  therefore,  me  thou  seest ;  my  life  the  stake : 

'Tis  I,  ^neas,  who  implore  thine  aid. 

Should  Daunia,  that  now  aims  the  blow  at  thee, 

Prevail  to  conquer  us,  naught  then,  they  think, 

Will  hinder,  but  Plesperia  must  be  theirs, 

All  theirs,  from  the  upper  to  the  nether  sea. 

Take  then  our  friendship,  and  return  us  thine  I 

We  too  have  courage,  we  have  noble  minds. 

And  youth  well  tried,  and  exercised  in  arms." 

Thus  spoke  ^neas.     He  with  fix'd  regard 
Survey 'd  him  speaking,  features,  form,  and  mien. 
Then  briefly  thus — "  Thou  noblest  of  thy  name. 
How  gladly  do  I  take  thee  to  my  heart, 


654  COWPERS    POETICAL    WORKS. 

How  gladly  thus  confess  tliee  for  a  friend ! 

In  thee  I  trace  Ancliises ;  his  thy  speech, 

Thy  voice,  thy  countenance.     For  I  well  remember 

Many  a  day  since,  when  Priam  journey'd  forth 

To  Salamis,  to  see  the  land  where  dwelt 

Hesione,  his  sister,  he  push'd  on 

Even  to  Arcadia's  frozen  bounds.     'Twas  then 

The  bloom  of  youth  was  glowing  on  my  cheek ; 

Much  I  admired  the  Trojan  chiefs,  and  much 

Their  king,  the  son  of  great  Laomedon  ; 

But  most  Anchises,  towering  o'er  them  all. 

A  youthful  longing  seized  me  to  accost 

The  hero,  and  embrace  him ;  I  drew  near, 

And  gladly  led  him  to  the  walls  of  Pheneus. 

Departing,  he  distinguish'd  me  with  gifts — 

A  costly  quiver  stored  with  Lycian  darts, 

A  robe  inwove  with  gold,  with  gold  emboss'd 

Two  bridles,  those  which  Pallas  uses  now. 

The  friendly  league  thou  hast  solicited 

I  give  thee,  therefore,  and  to-morrow  all 

My  chosen  youth  shall  wait  on  your  return. 

Meanwhile,  since  thus  in  friendship  ye  are  come, 

Eejoice  with  us,  and  join  to  celebrate 

These  annual  rites,  which  may  not  be  delay'd, 

And  be  at  once  familiar  at  our  board." 

He  said,  and  bade  replace  the  feast  removed ; 
Himself  upon  a  grassy  bank  disposed 
The  crew ;  but  for  ^neas  order'd  forth 
A  couch  spread  with  a  lion's  tawny  shag. 
And  bade  him  share  the  honors  of  his  throne. 
The  appointed  youth  witli  glad  alacrity 
Assist  the  laboring  priest  to  load  the  board 
With  roasted  entrails  of  the  slaughter'd  beeves. 
Well-kneaded  bread  and  mantling  bowls.    Well  pleased, 
^neas  and  the  Trojan  youth  regale 
On  the  huge  length  of  a  well-pastured  chine. 

Hunger  appeased,  and  tables  all  dispatcli'd, 
Thus  spake  Evander:  "Superstition  here, 
In  this  old  solemn  feasting,  has  no  part. 
ITo,  Trojan  friend,  from  utmost  danger  saved. 
In  gratitude  this  worship  we  renew. 
Behold  that  rock  which  nods  above  the  vale. 
Those  bulks  of  broken  stones  dispersed  around. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  055 

How  desolate  the  shatter'd  cave  appears, 

And  what  a  ruin  spreads  the  encumber'd  plain! 

Within  this  pile,  but  far  within,  was  once 

The  den  of  Cacns  ;  dire  his  hateful  form 

That  shunn'd  the  day,  half  monster  and  half  man. 

Blood  newly  shed  stream'd  ever  on  the  ground 

Smoking,  and  many  a  visage  pale  and  wan, 

Nail'd  at  his  gate,  hung  hideous  to  the  sight. 

Vulcan  begot  the  brute :  vast  was  his  size, 

And  from  his  throat  he  belch'd  his  father's  fires. 

But  the  day  came  that  brought  us  what  we  wish'd, 

The  assistance  and  the  presence  of  a  God. 

riush'd  with  his  victory,  and  the  spoils  he  won 

From  triple-form'd  Geryon  lately  slain, 

The  great  avenger,  Hercules,  appear'd. 

Hither  he  drove  his  stately  bulls,  and  pourVI 

His  herds  along  the  vale.     But  the  sly  thief 

Cacus,  that  nothing  might  escape  his  hand 

Of  villainy  or  fraud,  drove  from  the  stalls 

Four  of  the  lordliest  of  his  bulls,  and  four 

The  fairest  of  his  heifers ;  by  the  tail 

He  dragg'd  them  to  his  den,  that,  there  conceal'd, 

No  footsteps  might  betray  the  dark  abode. 

And  now,  his  herd  with  provender  sufficed, 

Alcides  would  be  gone :  they  as  they  went 

Still  bellowing  loud,  made  the  deep  echoing  woods 

And  distant  hills  resound  :  when,  hark !  one  ox, 

Imprison'd  close  within  the  vast  recess. 

Lows  in  return,  and  frustrates  all  his  hope. 

Then  fury  seized  Alcides,  and  his  breast 

With  indignation  heaved :  grasping  his  club 

Of  knotted  oak,  swift  to  the  mountain  top 

He  ran,  he  flew.     Then  first  was  Cacus  seen 

To  tremble,  and  his  eyes  bespoke  his  fears. 

Swift  as  an  eastern  blast,  he  sought  his  den, 

And  dread,  increasing,  wing'd  him  as  he  went. 

Drawn  up  in  iron  slings  above  the  gate, 

A  rock  was  hung  enormous.     Such  his  haste. 

He  burst  the  chains,  and  dropp'd  it  at  the  door, 

Then  grappled  it  with  iron  work  within 

Of  bolts  and  bars  by  Vulcan's  art  contrived. 

Scarce  was  he  fast,  when,  ])anting  for  revenge, 

Came  Hercules :  he  gnash'd  his  teeth  with  rage,  * 


656  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  quick  as  lightning  glanced  his  eyes  around 
In  quest  of  entrance.     Fiery  red,  and  stung 
"With  indignation,  thrice  he  wheel'd  his  course 
Ahout  the  mountain ;  thrice,  but  thrice  in  vain, 
He  strove  to  force  the  quarry  at  the  gate. 
And  thrice  sat  down  overwearied  in  the  vale. 
There  stood  a  pointed  rock,  abrupt  and  rude, 
That  liigh  o'erlookVl  the  rest,  close  at  tlie  back 
Of  the  fell  monster's  den,  where  birds  obscene 
Of  ominous  note  resorted,  choughs  and  daws. 
This,  as  it  lean'd  obliquely  to  the  left, 
Threatening  the  stream  below,  he  from  the  right 
Pushed  with  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  and  fro 
He  shook  the  mass,  loosening  its  lowest  base ; 
Then  shoved  it  from  its  seat :  down  fell  the  pile ; 
Sky  thunder'd  at  the  fall ;  the  banks  give  way. 
The  affrighted  stream  flows  upward  to  his  source. 
Behold  the  kennel  of  the  brute  exposed  ; 
The  gloomy  vault  laid  open !     So,  if  chance 
Earth  yawning  to  the  centre  should  disclose 
The  mansions,  the  pale  mansions  of  the  dead, 
Loathed  by  the  gods,  such  would  the  gulf  appear, 
And  the  ghosts  tremble  at  the  sight  of  day. 
The  monster  braying  with  unusual  din 
Within  his  hollow  lair,  and  sore  amazed 
To  see  such  sudden  inroads  of  the  light — 
Alcides  press'd  him  close  with  what  at  hand 
Lay  readiest,  stumps  of  trees,  and  fragments  huge 
Of  millstone  size.     He  (for  escape  was  none). 
Wondrous  to  tell !  forth  from  his  gorge  discharged 
A  smoky  cloud  that  darkened  all  the  den ; 
Wreath  after  wreath  he  vomited  amain. 
The  smothering  vapor  mix'd  with  fiery  sparks. 
No  sight  could  penetrate  the  veil  obscure. 
The  hero,  more  provoked,  endured  not  this. 
But  with  a  headlong  leap  he  rush'd  to  where 
The  thickest  cloud  envelop'd  his  abode  : 
There  grasp'd  he  Cacus,  spite  of  all  his  fires, 
Till,  crush'd  within  his  arms,  the  monster  shows 
His  bloodless  throat,  now  dry  with  panting  liard ; 
And  his  pressM  eyeballs  start.     Soon  he  tears  down 
The  barricade  of  rock,  the  dark  abyss 
Lies  open ;  and  the  imprisoned  bulls,  the  theft 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  651 

He  had  Avitli  oaths  denied,  are  brought  to  light ; 
By  the  heels  the  miscreant  carcass  is  dragg'd  forth, 
His  face,  his  eyes,  all  terril)le,  his  breast 
Beset  with  bristles,  and  his  sooty  jaws 
Are  view'd  with  wonder  never  to  be  cloy'd 
Hence  the  celebrity  thou  seest,  and  hence 
This  festal  day  Potitius  first  enjoin'd 
Posterity :  these  solemn  rites  he  first 
With  those  who  bear  the  great  Pinarian  name, 
To  Hercules  devoted  ;  in  the  grove 
This  altar  built,  deem'd  sacred  in  the  highest 
By  us,  and  sacred  ever  to  be  deem'd. 
Come,  then,  my  friends,  and  bind  your  youthful  brows 
In  praise  of  such  deliverance,  and  hold  forth 
The  brimming  cup ;  your  deities  and  ours 
Are  now  the  same ;  then  drink,  and  freely  too." 
So  saying,  he  twisted  round  his  reverend  locks 
A  variegated  poplar  wreath,  and  fili'd 
His  right  hand  with  a  consecrated  bowl. 
At  once  all  pour  libations  on  the  board, 
All  offer  prayer.     And  now,  the  radiant  sphere 
Of  day  descending,  eventide  drew  near. 
When  first  Potitius  with  the  priests  advanced,    ' 
Begirt  with  skins,  and  torches  in  their  hands. 
High  piled  with  meats  of  savory  taste,  they  ranged 
The  cliargers,  and  renew'd  the  grateful  feast. 
Then  came  the  Salii,  crown'd  with  poplar  too, 
Circling  the  blazing  altars ;  here  the  youth 
Advanced,  a  choir  harmonious,  there  were  heard 
The  reverend  seers  responsive ;  praise  they  sung, 
Much  praise  in  honor  of  Alcides'  deeds ; 
How  first  with  infant  gripe  two  serpents  huge 
He  strangled,  sent  from  Juno ;  next  they  sung, 
How  Troja  and  (Echalia  he  destroy'd. 
Fair  cities  both,  and  many  a  toilsome  task 
Beneath  Eurystheus  (so  his  stepdame  will'd) 
Achieved  victorious.     ''  Thou,  the  cloud-born  pair, 
Hyl83us  fierce  and  Pholus,  monstrous  twins, 
Thou  slew'st  the  Minotaur,  the  plague  of  Crete, 
And  the  vast  lion  of  the  Nemean  rock. 
Thee  hell,  and  Cerberus,  hell's  porter,  fear'd, 
Stretch'd  in  his  den  upon  his  half-gnaw'd  bones. 
Thee  no  abhorr'd  form,  not  even  the  vast 


658  ,       cowper's  poetical  works. 

Typhoeiis  could  appal,  thougli  clad  in  arms. 
Hail,  true-born  son  of  Jove,  among  the  gods 
At  length  enrolPd,  nor  least  illustrious  thou, 
Haste  thee  propitious,  and  approve  our  songs." 
Thus  hyran'd  the  chorus ;  above  all  they  sing 
The  cave  of  Cacus,  and  the  flames  he  breathed. 
The  whole  grove  echoes,  and  the  hills  rebound. 

The  rites  perform'd,  all  hasten  to  the  town. 
The  king,  bending  with  age,  held  as  he  went 
^neas  and  his  Pallas  by  the  hand. 
With  much  variety  of  pleasing  talk 
Shortening  the  way.     ^neas,  with  a  smile. 
Looks  round  him,  charm'd  with  the  delightful  scene, 
And  many  a  question  asks,  and  much  he  learns 
Of  heroes  far  renown'd  in  ancient  times. 
Then  spake  Evander :   "  These  extensive  groves 
Were  once  inhabited  by  fauns  and  nymphs,- 
Produced  beneath  their  shades,  and  a  rude  race 
Of  men,  the  progeny  uncouth  of  elms 
And  knotted  oaks.     They  no  refinement  knew 
Of  laws  or  manners  civilized — to  yoke 
The  steer,  with  forecast  provident  to  store 
The  hoarded  grain,  or  manage  what  they  had — 
But  browsed  like  beasts  upon  the  leafy  boughs, 
Or  fed  voracious  on  their  hunted  prey. 
An  exile  from  Olympus,  and  expell'd 
His  native  realm  by  thunder-bearing  Jove, 
First  Saturn  came.     He  from  the  mountains  drew 
This  herd  of  men  untractable  and  fierce. 
And  gave  them  laws :  and  calPd  his  hiding-place, 
This  growth  of  forests,  Latium.     Such  the  peace 
His  land  possessed,  the  golden  age  was  then, 
So  famed  in  story ;  till  by  slow  degrees 
Far  other  times,  and  of  far  different  hue. 
Succeeded,  thirst  of  gold  and  thirst  of  blood. 
Then  came  Ausonian  bands,  and  armed  hosts 
From  Sicily,  and  Latium  often  changed 
Her  master  and  her  name.     At  length  arose 
Kings,  of  whom  Tybris  of  gigantic  form 
Was  chief;  and  we  Italians  since  have  call'd 
The  river  by  his  name;  thus  Albula 
(So  was  the  country  calPd  in  ancient  days) 
Was  quite  forgot.     Me  from  my  native  land 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    VIRGIL.  659 

An  exile,  through  the  dangerous  ocean  driven, 
Resistless  Fortune  and  relentless  Fate 
Placed  wliere  thou  seest  me.     Plia3bus,  and 
The  nymph  Carmentis,  with  maternal  care 
Attendant  on  my  wanderings,  fix'd  me  here." 


He  said,  and  show'd  him  the  Tarpeian  rock, 
And  the  rude  spot  where  now  the  Capitol 
Stands  all  magnificent  and  bright  with  gold. 
Then  overgrown  with  thorns.     And  yet  even  then 
The  swains  beheld  that  sacred  scene  with  awe ; 
The  grove,  the  rock,  inspired  religious  fear. 
"This  grove,"  he  said,  ''that  crowns  the  lofty  top 
Of  this  fair  hill,  some  deity,  we  know, 
Inhabits,  but  what  deity  we  doubt. 
The  Arcadians  speak  of  Jupiter  himself. 
That  they  have  often  seen  him,  shaking  here  ' 
His  gloomy  ^gis,  while  the  thunder-storms 
Came  rolling  all  around  him.     Turn  thine  eyes, 
Behold  that  ruin ;  those  dismantled  walls. 

Where  once  two  towns,  Janiculum , 

By  Janus  this,  and  that  by  Saturn  built, 
Saturnia."     Such  discourse  brought  them  beneath 
The  roof  of  poor  Evander ;  thence  they  saw. 
Where  now  the  proud  and  stately  Forum  stands, 
The  grazing  herds  wide  scatter'd  o'er  the  field. 
Soon  as  he  enter'd — Hercules,  lie  said. 
Victorious  Hercules,  on  this  threshold  trod ; 
These  walls  contain'd  him,  humble  as  they  are. 
Dare  to  despise  magnificence,  my  friend. 
Prove  thy  divine  descent  by  worth  divine, 
Nor  view  Avith  haughty  scorn  this  mean  abode. 
So  saying,  he  led  ^neas  by  the  hand, 
And  placed  him  on  a  cushion  stufi^'d  with  leaves, 
Snread  with  the  skin  of  a  Lybistian  bear. 

*  ^  *  -^r  ^ 

While  thus  in  Lemnos  Vulcan  was  employ 'd, 
Awaken'd  by  the  gentle  dawn  of  day, 
And  the  shrill  song  of  birds  beneath  the  eaves 
Of  his  low  mansion,  old  Evander  rose. 
His  tunic,  and  the  sandals  on  his  feet. 


060  cowper's  poetical  works. 

And  his  good  sword  well  girded  to  bis  side, 
A  panther's  skin  dependent  from  Ins  left, 
And  over  his  right  shoulder  thrown  aslant — 
Thus  was  he  clad.     Tavo  mastiffs  followed  him, 
His  whole  retinue  and  his  nightly  guard. 


OVID,  TRIST.  BOOK  Y.  ELEG.  XII. 

Scribis,  ut  oblectem. 

You  bid  me  write  to  amuse  the  tedious  hours, 

And  save  from  withering  my  poetic  powers ; 

Hard  is  the  task,  my  friend,  for  verse  should  flow 

From  the  free  mind,  not  fetter'd  down  by  woe ; 

Eestless  amidst  unceasing  tempests  tost. 

Whoe'er  has  cause  for  sorrow,  I  have  most. 

Would  you  bid  Priam  laugh,  his  sons  all  slain, 

Or  childless  Niobe  from  tears  refrain. 

Join  the  gay  dance,  and  lead  the  festive  train? 

Does  grief  or  study  most  befit  the  mind 

To  this  remote,  this  barbarous  nook  confined? 

Could  you  impart  to  my  unshaken  breast 

The  fortitude  by  Socrates  possessed. 

Soon  would  it  sink  beneath  such  woes  as  mine ; 

For  what  is  human  strength  to  wrath  divine  ? 

Wise  as  he  was,  and  Heaven  pronounced  him  so, 

My  sufferings  would  have  laid  that  wisdom  low. 

Could  I  forget  my  country,  thee  and  all, 

And  even  the  offence  to  which  I  owe  my  fall ; 

Yet  fear  alone  Avould  freeze  the  poet's  vein. 

While  hostile  troops  swarm  o'er  the  dreary  plain. 

Add  that  the  fatal  rust  of  long  disuse 

Unfits  me  for  the  service  of  the  Mase. 

Thistles  and  weeds  are  all  we  can  expect 

From  the  best  soil  impoverish'd  by  neglect ; 

Unexercised,  and  to  his  stall  confined. 

The  fleetest  racer  would  be  left  behind ; 

The  best  built  bark  that  cleaves  the  watery  way, 

Laid  useless  by,  would  moulder  and  decay — 

No  hope  remains  that  time  shall  me  restc>re, 

Mean  as  I  was,  to  what  I  was  before. 

Think  how  a  series  of  desponding  cares 


TRANSLATIONS   FROM    HORACE.  661 

Benumbs  the  genius,  and  its  force  impairs. 

IIow  oft,  as  now,  on  this  devoted  sheet, 

My  verse,  constrain'd  to  move  with  measured  feet, 

Reluctant  and  laborious  limps  along, 

And  proves  itself  a  wretched  exile's  song. 

What  is  it  tunes  the  most  melodious  lays? 

'Tis  emulation  and  the  thirst  of  praise — 

A  noble  thirst,  and  not  unknown  to  me. 

While  smoothly  wafted  on  a  calmer  sea. 

I^ut  can  a  wretch  hke  Ovid  pant  for  fame? 

No,  rather  let  the  world  forget  my  name. 

Is  it  because  that  world  approved  my  strain, 

You  prompt  me  to  the  same  pursuit  again? 

No,  let  the  Nine  the  ungrateful  truth  excuse, 

I  charge  my  hopeless  ruin  on  the  Muse, 

And,  like  Perillus,  meet  my  just  desert, 

The  victim  of  my  own  pernicious  art : 

Fool  that  I  was,  to  be  so  warn'd  in  vain. 

And,  shipwreck'd  once,  to  tempt  the  deep  again! 

Ill  fares  the  bard  in  this  unletter'd  land, 

None  to  consult,  and  none  to  understand. 

The  purest  verse  has  no  admirers  here. 

Their  own  rude  language  only  suits  their  ear. 

Paide  as  it  is,  at  length  familiar  grown, 

I  learn  it,  and  almost  unlearn  my  own — 

Yet  to  say  truth,  even  here  the  Muse  disdains 

Confinement,  and  attempts  her  former  strains ; 

But  finds  the  strong  desire  is  not  the  power. 

And  what  her  taste  condemns  the  flames  devour. 

A  part,  perhaps,  like  this,  escapes  the  doom, 

A  nd  though  unworthy,  finds  a  friend  at  Eome ; 

But  oh  the  cruel  art,  that  could  undo 

Its  votary  thus !  would  that  could  perish  too  I 


HORACE,  BOOK  I.  ODE  IX. 

Vidcs,  ut  aUa  stet  nive  candidum 
Soracte  ;    

Seest  thou  yon  mountain  laden  with  deep  snow  s 
The  groves  beneath  their  fleecy  burden  bow ; 
The  streams,  congealVl,  forget  to  flow ; 
5G 


662  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Come,  thaw  the  cold,  and  lay  a  cheerful  pile 

Of  fuel  on  the  hearth  ; 
Broach  the  best  cask,  and  make  old  Winter  smile 

With  seasonable  mirth. 
This  be  our  part — let  Heaven  dispose  the  rest ; 
If  Jove  command,  the  winds  shall  sleep. 
That  now  wage  war  upon  the  foamy  deep, 
And  gentle  gales  spring  from  the  balmy  west. 
Even  let  us  shift  to-morrow  as  we  may : 
When  to-morrow's  pass'd  away, 
We  at  least  shall  have  to  say. 
We  have  lived  another  day : 
Your  auburn  locks  will  soon  be  silver'd  o'er, 
Old  age  is  at  our  heels,  and  youth  returns  no  more. 


HORACE,  BOOK  I.  ODE  XXXYIII. 

Persicos  odi,  puer,  apparatus. 

Boy,  I  hate  their  empty  shows, 

Persian  garlands  I  detest ; 
Bring  not  me  the  late-blown  rose, 

Lingering  after  all  the  rest. 
Plainer  myrtle  pleases  me. 

Thus  outstretch'd  beneath  my  vine 
Myrtle  more  becoming  thee, 

Waiting  with  thy  master's  wine. 


HORACE,  BOOK  I.  ODE  XXXVHI. 

Boy  !  I  detest  all  Persian  fopperies ; 
Fillet-bound  garlands  are  to  me  disgusting; 
Task  not  thyself  with  any  search,  I  charge  thee, 

Where  latest  roses  linger. 
Bring  m^  alone  (for  thou  wilt  find  that  readily) 
Plain  myrtle.     Myrtle  neither  will  disparage 
Thee  occupied  to  serve  me,  or  me  drinking 

Beneath  my  vine's  cool  shelter. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE.  663 


HORACE,  BOOK  II.  ODE  X. 

PvECEivE,  dear  friend,  the  truths  I  teach, 
So  shalt  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  fortune's  power ; 
Kot  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Kor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor, 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door, 

Embittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  wintry  blasts  ;  the  loftiest  tower 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground  ; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side 
His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide. 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-inform'd  philosopher 
Kejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear. 

And  hopes  in  spite  of  pain ; 
If  Winter  bellow  from  the  north, 
Soon  the  sweet  Spring  comes  dancing  forth. 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

"What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast. 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  God  that  strings  the  silver  bow, 
Awakes  sometimes  the  Muses  too, 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way. 
Thy  magnanimity  display, 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen : 
But  oh!  if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
Witli  more  than  a  propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in. 


664  cowper's  poetical  works. 


A  REFLECTION  ON  THE  FOREGOING  ODK 

And  is  this  all  ?     Can  Reason  do  no  more 

Than  hid  me  shun  the  deep,  and  dread  the  shore  ? 

Sweet  moralist !  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea, 

The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee : 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears ; 

Where  Duty  hids  he  confidently  steers, 

Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  call, 

And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all. 


HORACE,  BOOK  II.  ODE  XVI. 

Otium  Divos  rogat  in  patenti. 

Ease  is  the  weary  merchant's  prayer, 
Who  ploughs  by  night  the^gean  flood, 

Wlien  neither  moon  nor  stars  appear, 
Or  faintly  glimmer  through  the  cloud. 

For  ease  the  Mede  with  quiver  graced, 
Eor  ease  the  Thracian  hero  sighs ; 

Delightful  ease  all  pant  to  taste, 
A  blessing  which  no  treasure  buys. 

For  neither  gold  can  lull  to  rest, 
Nor  all  a  Consul's  guard  beat  oflc' 

The  tumults  of  a  troubled  breast. 
The  cares  that  haunt  a  gilded  roof. 

Happy  the  man  whose  table  shows 
A  few  clean  ounces  of  old  plate ; 

No  fear  intrudes  on  his  repose,  . 
No  sordid  .wishes  to  be  great. 

Poor  short-lived  things !  what  plans  we  lay ! 

Ah,  why  forsake  our  native  home ; 
To  distant  climates  speed  away  ? 

For  self  sticks  close  where'er  we  roam. 

Care  follows  hard,  and  soon  overtakes 
The  well-rigg'd  ship,  the  warlike  steed; 

Her  destined  quarry  ne'er  forsakes — 
Not  the  wind  flies  with  half  her  speed. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE.  665 

From  anxious  fears  of  future  ill 

Guard  well  the  cheerful,  happy  now ; 

Gild  even  your  sorrows  with  a  smile ; 
No  blessing  is  unmix'd  below. 

Thy  neighing  steeds  and  lowing  herds, 
Thy  numerous  flocks  around  thee  graze, , 

And  the  best  purple  Tyre  affords 
Thy  robe  magnificent  displays. 

On  me  indulgent  Heaven  bestow'd 

A  rural  mansion,  neat  and  small ; 
This  lyre ; — and  as  for  yonder  crowd — 

The  happiness  to  hate  them  all. 


FIFTH  SATIRE  OF  THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE. 

A  HUMOROUS  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  AUTHOr's  JOURNEY  FROM  |10ME  TO 
BRUNDUSIUM. 

'TwAS  a  long  journey  lay  before  us, 
"When  I  and  honest  Heliodorus, 
"Who  far  in  point  of  rhetoric 
Surpasses  every  living  Greek, 
Each  leaving  our  respective  home, 
Together  sallied  forth  from  Rome. 

First  at  Aricia  we  alight, 
And  there  refresh  and  pass  the  night; 
Our  entertainment  rather  coarse 
Tlian  sumptuous,  but  I've  met  with  worse. 
Thence  o'er  the  causew^ay  soft  and  fair 
To  Appii  Forum  we  repair. 
But  as  this  road  is  well  supplied 
(Temptation  strong!)  on  either  side 
With  inns  commodious,  snug,  and  warm. 
We  split  the  journey,  and  perform 
In  two  days'  time  what's  often  done 
By  brisker  travellers  in  one. 
Here,  rather  choosing  not  to  sup 
Than  with  bad  water  mix  my  cup. 
After  a  warm  debate  in  spite 
Of  a  provoking  appetite, 
I  sturdily  resolved  at  last 
To  balk  it,  and  pronounce  a  fast. 


QQQ  COWPEr's    poetical   WOPvKS. 

And  in  a  moody  humor  wait, 
While  my  less  dainty  comrades  bait. 

N'ow  o'er  the  spangled  hemisphere 
Diffused  the  starry  train  appear, 
"When  there  arose  a  desperate  brawl : 
The  slaves  and  bargemen,  one  and  all 
Bending  their  throats  (have  mercy  on  us !) 
As  if  they  were  resolved  to  stun  us. 
'^  Steer  the  barge  this  way  to  the  shore ; 
I  tell  you  we'll  admit  no  more ; 
Plague !  will  you  never  be  content  ?" 
Thus  a  whole  hour  at  least  is  spent; 
While  they  receive  the  several  fares, 
And  kick  the  mule  into  his  gears. 
Happy,  these  difficulties  past, 
Could  we  have  fallen  asleep  at  last! 
But,  what  with  humming,  croaking,  biting, 
Gnats,  frogs,  and  all  their  plagues  uniting, 
These  tuneful  natives  of  the  lake 
Conspired  to  keep  us  broad  awake. 
Besides,  to  make  the  concert  full, 
Two  maudlin  wights,  exceeding  dull, 
The  bargeman  and  a  passenger. 
Each  in  his  turn,  essay'd  an  air 
In  honor  of  his  absent  fair. 
At  length  the  passenger,  opprest 
With  wine,  left  off,  and  snored  the  rest. 
The  weary  bargeman  too  gave  o'er. 
And,  hearing  his  companion  snore, 
Seized  the  occasion,  fix'd  the  barge, 
Turn'd  out  his  mule  to  graze  at  large. 
And  slept  forgetful  of  his  charge. 
And  now  the  sun  o'er  eastern  hill 
Discover'd  that  our  barge  stood  still ; 
When  one,  whose  anger  vex'd  him  sore, 
With  malice  fraught,  leaps  quick  on  shore; 
Plucks  up  a  stake,  with  many  a  thwack 
Assails  the  mule  and  driver's  back.- 

Then  slowly  moving  on  with  pain. 
At  ten  Feronia's  stream  we  gain. 
And  in  her  pure  and  glassy  wave 
Our  hands  and  faces  gladly  lave. 
Climbing  three  miles,  fair  Anxur's  height 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE.  667 

"We  reach,  with  stony  quarries  white. 

.While  here,  as  was  agreed,  we  wait. 

Till,  charged  with  business  of  the  state, 

Maecenas  and  Cocceius  come. 

The  messengers  of  peace  from  Rome.  ^ 

My  eyes,  by  watery  humors  blear 

And  sore,  I  with  black  balsam  smear. 

At  length  they  join  us,  and  with  them 

Our  worthy  friend  Fonteius  came ; 

A  man  of  such  complete  desert, 

Antony  loved  him  at  his  heart. 

At  Fundi  we  refused  to  bait. 

And  laugh'd  at  vain  Aufidius'  state, 

A  pr«3tor  now,  a  scribe  before. 

The  purple-border'd  robe  he  wore. 

His  slave  the  smoking  censer  bore. 

Tired,  at  Muraina's  we  repose, 

At  Formia  sup  at  Capito's. 

With  smiles  the  rising  morn  we  greet. 
At  Sinuessa  pleased  to  meet 
With  Plotius,  Yarius,  and  the  bard 
Whom  Mantua  first  with  w^onder  heard. 
The  w^orld  no  purer  spirits  know^s ; 
For  none  my  heart  more  warmly  glows. 
Oh !  what  embraces  we  bestowM, 
And  with  what  joy  our  breasts  o'erflow'd ! 
Sure,  while  my  sense  is  sound  and  clear, 
Long  as  I  live,  I  shall  prefer 
A  gay,  good-natured,  easy  friend 
To  every  blessing  Heaven  can  send. 
At  a  small  village,  the  next  night, 
Near  the  Vulturnus  we  alight ; 
Where,  as  employ'd  on  state  affairs, 
We  were  supplied  by  the  purveyors, 
Frankly  at  once,  and  without  hire, 
AYith  food  for  man  and  horse,  and  fire. 
Capua  next  day  betimes  we  reach. 
Where  Virgil  and  myself,  who  each 
Labored  with  different  maladies — 
His  such  a  stomach,  mine  such  eyes, 
As  would  not  bear  strong  exercise, 
In  drowsy  mood  to  sleep  resort ; 
Maecenas  to  the  tennis-court. 


668  cowper's  poetical  works. 

Next  at  Cocceius'  farm  we're  treated, 

Above  the  Caudian  tavern  seated ; 

His  kind  and  hospitable  board 

"With  choice  of  wholesome  food  was  stored. 

Now,  0  ye  Nine,  inspire  my  lays ! 
To  nobler  themes  my  fancy  raise ! 
Two  combatants,  who  scorn  to  yield 
The  noisy,  tongue-disputed  field, 
Sarmentus  and  Oicirrus,  claim 
A  poet's  tribute  to  their  fame ; 
Cicirrus  of  true  Oscian  breed, 
Sarmentus,  who  was  never  freed. 
But  ran  away — we  don't  defame  him ; 
His  lady  lives,  and  still  may  claim  him. 
Thus  dignified,  in  harder  fray 
These  champions  their  keen  wit  display ; 
And  first  Sai^mentus  led  the  way. 
''  Thy  locks,"  quoth  he,  "  so  rough  and  coarse, 
Look  like  the  mane  of  some  wild  horse." 
We  laugh ;  Cicirrus,  undismay'd — 
"  Have  at  you!"  cries,  and  shakes  his  head. 
'^  'Tis  well,"  Sarmentus  says,  "  you've  lost 
That  horn  your  forehead  once  could  boast ; 
Since,  maim'd  and  mangled  as  you  are, 
You  seem  to  butt."     A  hideous  scar 
Improved,  'tis  true,  with  double  grace 
The  native  horrors  of  his  face. 
Well,  after  much  jocosely  said 
Of  his  grim  front,  so  fiery  red 
(For  carbuncles  had  blotch'd  it  o'er 
As  usual  on  Campania's  shore), 
"  Give  us,"  he  cried,  "  since  you're  so  big, 
A  sample  of  the  Cy clop's  jig ! 
Your  shanks  methinks  no  buskins  ask, 
Nor  does  your  phiz  require  a  mask." 
To  this  Cicirrus  :   ''  In  return. 
Of  you,  sir,  now  I  fain  would  learn. 
When  'twas,  no  longer  deem'd  a  slave. 
Your  chains  you  to  the  Lares  gave  ? 
For  though  a  scrivener's  right  you  claim, 
Your  lady's  title  is  the  same. 
But  what  could  make  you  run  away, 
Since,  pigmy  as  you  are,  each  day 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE. 

A  single  pound  of  bread  wonld  quite 
O'erpower  your  puny  appetite  V 
Tiius  joked  tlie  champions,  while  we  laugh'd, 
And  many  a  cheerful  bumper  quaff' d. 

To  Beneventum  next  we  steer ; 
Where  our  good  host  by  over  caro 
In  roasting  thrushes  lean  as  mice 
Had  almost  fall'n  a  sacrifice. 
The  kitchen  soon  was  all  on  fire, 
And  to  the  roof  the  flames  aspire  ; 
There  might  you  see  each  man  and  master 
Striving,  amidst  this  sad  disaster, 
To  save  the  supper.     Then  they  came 
With  speed  enough  to  quench  the  flame. 
From  hence  we  first  at  distance  see 
The  Apulian  hills,  well  known  to  me, 
Parch'd  by  the  sultry  w^estern  blast ; 
And  which  we  never  should  have  past, 
Had  not  Trivicius  by  the  way 
Received  us  at  the  close  of  day. 
But  each  was  forced  at  entering  here 
To  pay  the  tribute  of  a  tear ; 
For  more  of  smoke  than  fire  was  seen — 
The  hearth  was  piled  with  logs  so  green. 
From  hence  in  chaises  w^e  were  carried 
Miles  twenty-four,  and  gladly  tarried 
At  a  small  town,  whose  name  my  verse 
(So  barbarous  is  it)  can't  rehearse. 
Know  it  you  may  by  many  a  sign, 
Water  is  dearer  far  than  wine  ; 
There  bread  is  deem'd  such  dainty  fare, 
That  every  prudent  traveller 
His  wallet  loads  with  many  a  crust ; 
For  at  Canusium  you  might  just 
As  well  attempt  to  gnaw  a  stone, 
As  think  to  get  a  morsel  down  : 
That  too  with  scanty  streams  is  fed ; 
Its  founder  was  brave  Diomed. 
Good  Varius  (ah,  that  friends  must  part !) 
Here  left  us  all  with  aching  heart. 
At  Rubi  we  arrived  that  day. 
Well  jaded  by  the  length  of  way. 
And  sure  poor  mortals  ne^er  were  wetter : 


670  cowper's  poetical  works. 

ISText  day  no  weather  could  be  better ; 

No  roads  so  bad ;  we  scarce  could  crawl 

Along  to  fishy  Barium's  wall. 

The  Egnatians  next,  who  by  the  rules 

Of  common  sense  are  knaves  or  fools, 

Made  all  our  sides  with  laughter  heave. 

Since  we,  with  them,  must  needs  believe 

That  incense  in  their  temples  burns. 

And  without  fire  to  ashes  turns. 

To  circumcision's  bigots  tell 

Such  tales !  for  me,  I  know  full  well 

That  in  high  heaven,  unmoved  by  care, 

The  gods  eternal  quiet  share : 

Nor  can  I  deem  their  spleen  the  cause, 

"While  fickle  Nature  breaks  her  laws. 

Brundusium  last  we  reach :  and  there 

Stop  short  the  Muse  and  Traveller. 

1769. 


THE  NINTH  SATIRE  OF  THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF 
HORACE. 

DESCRIPTION    OF    AX   IMPEETIXEXT. 
Adapted  to  the  present  times,  1T59. 

Saunterinq  along  the  street  one  day. 

On  trifles  musing  by  the  way — 

Up  steps  a  free  famihar  wight 

(I  scarcely  knew  the  man  by  sight)  : 

"  Carlos,"  he  cried,  "  your  hand,  my  dear; 

Gad,  I  rejoice  to  meet  you  here! 

Pray  Heaven  I  see  you  well?"     '' So,  so; 

Even  well  enough,  as  times  now  go : 

The  same  good  wishes,  sir,  to  you." 

Finding  he  still  pursued  me  close — 

"Sir,  you  have  business,  I  suppose?" 

"  My  business,  sir,  is  quickly  done, 

'Tis  but  to  make  my  merit  known. 

Sir,  I  have  read" — "  Oh,  learned  sir, 

You  and  your  learning  I  revere." 

Then  sweating  with  anxiety, 

And  sadly  longing  to  get  free, 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE.  67l 

Gods,  how  I  scamper'd,  scuffled  for't, 
Ean,  halted,  ran  again,  stopp'd  short, 
Beckon'd  my  boy,  and  pull'd  him  near, 
And  whisper'd  nothing  in  his  ear. 

Teased  with  his  loose  unjointed  chat — 
*'  What  street  is  this  ?     What  house  is  that  ?" 

0  Harlow,  how  1  envied  thee 
Thy  unabash'd  effrontery. 

Who  darest  a  foe  with  freedom  blame, 
And  call  a  coxcomb  by  his  name! 
When  I  return'd  him  answer  none, 
Obligingly  the  fool  ran  on, 
"  I  see  you're  dismally  distress'd. 
Would  give  the  world  to  be  released. 
But  by  your  leave,  sir,  I  shall  still 
Stick  to  your  skirts,  do  what  you  will. 
Pray  which  way  does  your  journey  tend?" 
"  Oh,  'tis  a  tedious  way,  my  friend ; 
Across  the  Thames,  the  Lord  knows  where, 

1  w^ould  not  trouble  you  so  far." 
"Well,  I'm  at  leisure  to  attend  you." 

"  Are  you  ?"  thought  I,  "  the  De'il  befriend  you." 

ITo  ass  with  double  panniers  rack'd, 

Oppress'd,  o'erladen,  broken-back'd, 

E'er  look'd  a  thousandth  part  so  dull 

As  I,  nor  half  so  hke  a  fool. 

"  Sir,  I  know  little  of  myself 

(Proceeds  the  pert  conceited  elf), 

If  Gray  or  Mason  you  will  deem 

Than  me  more  Avorthy  your  esteem. 

Poems  I  write  by  folios 

As  fast  as  other  men  write  prose ; 

Then  I  can  sing  so  loud,  so  clear, 

That  Beard  cannot  with  me  compare. 

In  dancing,  too,  I  all  surpass ; 

Not  Cooke  can  move  with  such  a  grace." 

Here  I  made  shift  with  much  ado 

To  interpose  a  word  or  two. — 

"  Have  you  no  parents,  sir,  no  friends, 

Whose  welfare  on  your  own  depends?" 

**  Parents,  relations,  say  you  ?     No. 

They're  all  disposed  of  long  ago." — 

"Happy  to  be  no  more  perplex'd! 


)72  COWPEFl's    POETICAL    WORKS. 

My  fate  too  threatens,  I  go  next. 
Dispatch  me,  sir;  'tis  now  too  late, 
Alas !  to  struggle  with  my  fate ! 
Well,  I'm  convinced  my  time  is  come— ' 
"When  young,  a  gipsy  told  my  doom. 
The  beldame  shook  her  palsied  head, 
As  she  perused  my  palm,  and  said : 
Of  poison,  pestilence,  or  war, 
Gout,  stone,  defiuxion,  or  catarrh, 
You  have  no  reason  to  beware. 
Beware  the  coxcomb's  idle  prate ; 
Chiefly,  my  son,  beware  of  that. 
Be  sure,  when  you  behold  him,  fly. 
Out  of  all  earshot,  or  you  die." 

To  Rufus'  Hall  we  now  draw  near, 
"Where  he  was  summon'd.  to  appear, 
Refute  the  charge  the  plaintifl:'  brought, 
Or  sufier  judgment  by  default. 
^Tor  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  love  me,  wait 
One  moment !     I'll  be  with  you  straight.'^ 
Glad  of  a  plausible  pretence — 
''  Sir,  I  must  beg  you  to  dispense 
"With  my  attendance  in  the  court. 
My  legs  will  surely  suffer  for't." 
"Nay,  prithee,  Carlos,  stop  awhile!" 
'^  Faith,  sir,  in  law  I  have  no  skill. 
Besides,  I  have  no  time  to  spare, 
I  must  be  going  you  know  where." 
''  "Well,  I  protest  I'm  doubtful  now 
"Whether  to  leave  my  suit  or  you !" 
"  Me  without  scruple !"  I  reply ; 
"Me  by  all  means,  sir!" — "No,  not  I. 
Allons,  Monsieur!"     'Twere  vain,  you  know. 
To  strive  with  a  victorious  foe. 
So  I  reluctantly  obey. 
And  follow  where  he  leads  the  way. 

"  You  and  Newcastle  are  so  close, 
Still  hand  and  glove,  sir— I  suppose." 
"Newcastle,  let  me  tell  you,  sir, 
Has  not  his  equal  everywhere." 
"  "WelL     There  indeed  your  fortune's  made. 
Faith,  sir,  you  understand  your  trade. 
"\Yould  you  but  give  me  your  good  word : 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    HORACE.  6*73 

Just  introduce  me  to  my  lord,    . 

I  should  serve  charmingly  by  way 

Of  second  fiddle,  as  they  say  : 

What  think  you,  sir?  'twere  a  good  jest — 

'Slife,  we  should  quickly  scout  the  rest." 

"  Sir,  you  mistake  the  matter  far, 

We  have  no  second  fiddles  there — 

Kicher  than  I  some  folks  may  be ; 

More  learned,  but  it  hurts  not  me. 

Friends  though  he  has  of  different  kind, 

Each  has  his  proper  place  assigned." 

'^Strange  matters  these  alleged  by  you!" 

"  Strange  they  may  be,  but  they  are  true." 

"  Well,  then,  I  vow,  'tis  mighty  clever, 

Now  I  long  ten  times  more  than  ever 

To  be  advanced  extremely  near 

One  of  his  shining  character. 

Have  but  the  will — there  wants  no  more, 

'Tis  plain  enough  you  have  the  power. 

His  easy  temper  (that's  the  worst) 

He  knows,  and  is  so  shy  at  first." — 

"  But  such  a  cavalier  as  you — 

Lord,  sir,  you'll  quickly  bring  him  to!" 

*'  Well ;  if  I  fail  in  my  design. 

Sir,  it  shall  be  no  fault  of  mine. 

If  by  the  saucy  servile  tribe 

Denied,  what  think  you  of  a  bribe? 

Slmt  out  to-day,  not  die  with  sorrow, 

But  try  my  luck  again  to-morrow ; 

Never  attempt  to  visit  him 

But  at  the  most  convenient  time; 

Attend  him  on  each  levee  day, 

And  there  my  humble  duty  pay — 

Labor,  like  this,  our  want  supplies ; 

And  they  must  stoop  who  mean  to  rise." 

While  thus  he  wittingly  harangued. 
For  w^hicli  you'll  guess  I  wish'd  liim  hang'd, 
Campley,  a  friend  of  mine,  came  by — 
Who  knew  his  humor  more  than  I ; 
We  stop,  salute,  and — ''  Why  so  fast. 
Friend  Carlos  ?     Whither  air  this  haste  ?"— 
Fired  at  the  thought  of  a  reprieve, 
I  pinch  him,  pull  him,  twitch  his  sleeve, 
57 


G74  cowper's  poetical  works. 

]^od,  beckon,  bite  my  lips,  wink,  pout, 
Do  every  thing  but  speak  plain  out: 
While  he,  sad  dog !  from  the  beginning 
Determined  to  mistake  my  meaning, 
Instead  of  pitying  my  curse. 
By  jeering  made  it  ten  times  worse. 
''Campley,  what  secret  (pray!)  was  that 
You  wanted  to  communicate  ?" 
"  I  recollect.     But  'tis  no  matter. 
Carlos,  we'll  talk  of  that  hereafter. 
Even  let  the  secret  rest.     'Twill  tell 
Another  time,  sir,  just  as  well." 
Was  ever  such  a  dismal  day  ? 
Unlucky  cur,  he  steals  awa^^ 
And  leaves  me,  half  bereft  of  life, 
At  mercy  of  the  butcher's  knife ; 
When  sudden,  shouting  from  afar. 
See  his  antagonist  appear ! 
The  bailitf  seized  him  quick  as  thought, 
''Ho,  Mr.  Scoundrel!  Are  you  caught? 
Sir,  you  are  witness  to  the  arrest." 
''  Ay,  marry,  sir,  I'll  do  my  best." 
Tlie  mob  huzzas.     Away  tliey  trudge, 
Culprit  and  all,  before  the  judge. 
Meanwhile  I  luckily  enough 
(Thanks  to  Apollo)  got  clear  off. 


TRANSLATION  OF  AN  EPIGRAM  FROM  HOMER. 

Pay  me  my  price,  potters !  and  I  will  sing. 
Attend,  O  Pallas !  and  with  lifted  arm 
Protect  their  oven  ;  let  the  cups  and  all 
The  sacred  vessels  blacken  well,  and,  baked 
With  good  success,  yield  them  both  fair  renown 
And  profit,  whether  in  the  market  sold 
Or  streets,  and  let  .no  strife  ensue  between  us. 
But,  O  ye  potters !  if  with  shameless  front 
Ye  falsify  your  promise,  then  I  leave 
Ko  mischief  uninvoked  to  avenge  the  wrong. 
Come,  Syntrips,  Smaragus,  Sabactes,  come. 
And  Asbetus,  nor  let  your  direst  dread, 
Omodamus,  delay !     Fire  seize  your  house ! 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  GREEK.         675 

May  neither  house  nor  vestibule  escape ; 

May  ye  lament  to  see  confusion  mar 

And  mingle  the  whole  labor  of  your  hands ; 

And  may  a  sound  fill  all  your  oven,  such 

As  of  a  horse  grinding  his  provender ; 

While  all  your  pots  and  flagons  bounce  vv^ithin ! 

Come  hither,  also,  daughter  of  the  sun, 

Circe,  the  sorceress,  and  with  thy  drugs 

Poison  themselves,  and  aU  that  they  havt.  made! 

Come,  also,  Chiron,  with  thy  numerous  troop 

Of  Centaurs,  as  well  those  who  died  beneath 

The  club  of  Hercules,  as  who  escaped, 

And  stamp  their  crockery  to  dust ;  down  fall 

Their  chimney ;  let  them  see  it  with  their  eyes, 

And  howl  to  see  the  ruin  of  their  art. 

While  I  rejoice :  and  if  a  potter  stoop 

To  peep  into  his  furnace,  may  the  fire 

Flash  in  his  face  and  scorch  it,  that  all  men 

Observe,  thenceforth,  equity  and  good  faith ! 

Oct.  1790. 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  GREEK  VERSES. 


FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  JULIANUS. 

A  Spartan,  his  companion  slain. 

Alone  from  battle  fled ; 
His  mother,  kindling  with  disdain 

That  she  had  borne  him,  struok  him  dead ; 
For  courage,  and  not  birth  alone, 
In  Sparta,  testifies  a  son ! 

OX  THE  SAME,  BY  PALLADAS. 

A  Spartan  'scaping  from  the  fight, 
His  mother  met  him  in  his  flight, 
Upheld  a  falchion  to  his  breast. 
And  thus  the  fugitive  address'd : 


676  cowper's  poetical  works. 

"  Thou  canst  but  live  to  blot  with  shame 

Indelible  thy  mother's  name ; 

While  every  breath  that  thou  shalt  draw 

Offends  against  thy  country's  law ; 

But  if  thou  perish  by  this  hand, 

Myself,  indeed,  throughout  the  land, 

To  my  dishonor,  shall  be  known 

The  mother  still  of  such  a  son ; 

But  Sparta  will  be  safe  and  free. 

And  that  shall  serve  to  comfort  me.'* 

AN  EPITAPH. 

My  name — my  country — what  are  they  to  thee  ? 
What,  w^hether  base  or  proud  my  pedigree  ? 
Perhaps  I  far  surpass'd  all  other  men — 
Perhaps  I  fell  below  them  all — what  then  ? 
Suffice  it,  stranger !  that  thou  seest  a  tomb : 
Thou  know'st  its  use — it  hides — no  matter  whom. 

ANOTHER. 

Take  to  thy  bosom,  gentle  Earth,  a  swain 

With  much  hard  labor  in  thy  service  worn ! 

He  set  the  vines  that  clothe  yon  ample  plain, 

And  he  these  olives  that  the  vale  adorn. 

He  fill'd  with  grain  the  glebe ;  the  rills  he  led 

Through  this  green  herbage,  and  those  fruitful  bowers ; 

Thou,  therefore,  earth !  lie  lightly  on  his  head. 

His  hoary  head,  and  deck  his  grave  with  flowers. 

ANOTHER. 

Painter,  this  Ukeness  is  too  strong. 
And  we^hall  mourn  the  dead  too  long. 

ANOTHER. 

At  threescore  winters'  end  I  died, 
A  cheerless  being  sole  and  sad ; 
The  nuptial  knot  I  never  tied. 
And  wish  my  father  never  had. 


\ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  GREEK.        6Y7 


BY  CALLIMACHUS. 

At  morn  we  placed  on  his  funeral  bier 

Young  Melanippus  ;  and,  at  eventide, 

Unable  to  sustain  a  loss  so  dear, 

By  her  own  hand  his  blooming  sister  died. 

Thus  Aristippus  mournM  his  noble  race, 

Annihilated  by  a  double  blow, 

Nor  son  could  hope,  nor  daughter,  more  to  embrace, 

And  all  Cyrene  sadden'd  at  his  woe. 

ON  MILTIADES. 

MiLTiADEs !  thy  valor  best 
(Although  in  every  region  know^n) 
The  men  of  Persia  can  attest. 
Taught  by  thyself  at  Marathon. 

ON  AN  INFANT. 

Bewail  not  much,  my  parents !  me,  the  prey 
Of  ruthless  Ades,  and  sepulchred  here. 
An  infant  in  my  fifth  scarce  finish'd  year. 
He  found  all  sportive,  innocent,  and  gay. 
Your  young  Callimachus ;  and  if  I  knew 
iTot  many  joys>  my  griefs  were  also  few. 

BY  HERACLIDES. 

In  Cnidus  born,  the  consort  I  became 
Of  Euphron.     Aretimias  was  my  name. 
His  bed  I  shared,  nor  proved  a  barren  bride, 
But  bore  two  children  at  a  birth,  and  died. 
One  child  I  leave  to  solace  and  uphold 
Euphron  hereafter,  when  infirm  and  okh 
And  one,  for  his  remembrance'  sake,  I  bear 
To  Pluto's  realm,  till  he  shall  join  me  there. 

ON  THE  REED. 

I  WAS  of  late  a  barren  plant, 
Useless,  insignificant ; 
Nor  fig,  nor  grape,  nor  apple  bore, 
A  native  of  the  marshy  shore ; 


678  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But,  gathered  for  poetic  use, 
And  plunged  into  a  sable  juice, 
Of  which  my  modicum  I  sip 
With  narrow  mouth  and  slender  lip, 
At  once,  although  by  nature  dumb, 
All  eloquent  I  have  become. 
And  speak  with  fluency  un tired, 
As  if  by  Phoebus'  self  inspired. 

TO  HEALTH. 

Eldest  born  of  powers  divine ! 
Bless'd  Hygeia  !  be  it  mine 
To  enjoy  what  thou  canst  give, 
And  henceforth  with  thee  to  live : 
For  in  power  if  pleasure  be, 
Wealth  or  numerous  progeny, 
Or  in  amorous  embrace. 
Where  no  spy  infests  the  place ; 
Or  in  aught  that  Heaven  bestows 
To  alleviate  human  woes, 
When  the  wearied  heart  despairs 
Of  a  respite  from  its  cares ; 
These  and  every  true  delight 
Flourish  only  in  thy  sight ; 
And  the  sister  Graces  three 
Owe  themselves  their  youth  to  thee  ; 
Without  whom  we  may  possess 
Much,  but  never  happiness. 

ON  INVALIDS. 

Far  happier  are  the  dead,  methinks,  than  they 
Who  look  for  death,  and  fear  it  every  day. 

ON  THE  ASTROLOGERS. 

The  Astrologers  did  all  alike  presage 
My  uncle's  dying  in  extreme  old  age ; 
One  only  disagreed.     But  he  was  wise, 
And  spoke  not  till  he  heard  the  funeral  cries. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  GREEK.        679 


ON  AN  OLD  WOMAN. 

Mycilla  dyes  her  locks,  'tis  said ; 

But  'tis  a  foul  aspersion  : 
She  buys  thein  black ;  they  therefore  need 

No  subsequent  immersion. 

ON  FLATTERERS. 

No  mischief  worthier  of  our  fear 

In  nature  can  be  found 
Than  friendship,  in  ostent  sincere, 

But  hollow  and  unsound ; 
For  lull'd  into  a  dangerous  dream 

We  close  infold  a  foe. 
Who  strikes,  when  most  secure  we  seem, 

The  inevitable  blow. 


ON  A  TRUE  FRIEND. 

Hast  thou  a  friend  ?  thou  hast  indeed 
A  rich  and  large  supply ; 

Treasure  to  serve  your  every  need 
Well  managed,  till  you  die. 

ON  THE  SWALLOW, 

Attio  maid !  with  honey  fed, 

Bear'st  thou  to  thy  callow  brood 
Yonder  locust  from  the  mead, 

Destined  their  delicious  food? 
Ye  have  kindred  voices  clear, 

Ye  alike  unfold  the  wing, 
Migrate  hither,  sojourn  here, 

Both  attendant  on  the  spring ! 
Ah,  for  pity  drop  the  prize ; 

Let  it  not  with  truth  be  said 
That  a  songster  gasps  and  dies, 

That  a  songster  may  be  fed. 


680  cowper's  poetical  works. 


'       ON  LATE  ACQUIRED  WEALTH. 

Poor  in  my  youth,  and  in  life^*^  later  scenes 
Kich  to  no  end,  I  curse  my  natal  hour, 

"Who  naught  enjoy'd  while  young,  denied  the  means; 
And  naught  when  old  enjoy'd,  denied  the  power. 

ON  A  BATH,  BY  PLATO. 

Did  Cytlierea  to  the  skies 

Prom  this  pellucid  lymph  arise  ? 

Or  was  it  Cytherea's  touch. 

When  bathing  here,  that  made  it  such  ? 

ON  A  FOWLER,  BY  ISIDORUS. 

With  seeds  and  birdlime,  from  the  desert  air, 
Eumelus  gathered  free,  though  scanty  fare. 
'No  lordly  patron's  hand  he  deign'd  to  kiss, 
Il^or  luxury  knew,  save  liberty,  nor  bliss. 
Thrice  thirty  years  he  lived,  and  to  his  heirs 
His  seeds  bequeath'd,  his  birdhme,  and  his  snares. 

ON  A  GOOD  MAN. 

Teayellee,  regret  not  me ;  for  thou  shalt  find 

Just  cause  of  sorrow  none  in  my  decease. 
Who,  dying,  children's  children  left  behind, 

And  with  one  wife  lived  many  a  year  in  peace : 
Three  virtuous  youths  espoused  my  daughters  three, 

And  oft  their  infants  in  my  bosom  lay ; 
Nor  saw  I  one  of  all  derived  from  me, 

Touch'd  with  disease,  or  torn  by  death  away. 
Their  duteous  hands  my  funeral  rites  bestow'd ; 

And  me,  by  blameless  manners  fitted  well 
To  seek  it,  sent  to  the  serene  abode. 

Where  shades  of  pious  men  forever  dwell. 

ON  A  MISER. 

They  call  thee  rich — I  deem  thee  poor, 
Since,  if  thou  darest  not  use  thy  store, 
But  savest  it  only  for  thine  lieirs. 
The  treasure  is  not  thine,  but  theirs. 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    THE    GREEK.  681 


ANOTHER. 

A  MISER  traversing  liis  house, 

Espied,  unusual  there,  a  mouse, 

And  thus  his  uninvited  guest 

Briskly  inquisitive  addressed : 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear,  to  what  cause  is  it 

I  owe  this  unexpected  visit?" 

The  mouse  her  host  obliquely  eyed, 

And,  smiling,  pleasantly  replied  : 

"  Fear  not,  good  fellow,  for  your  hoard  \ 

I  come  to  lodge,  and  not  to  board." 

ANOTHER. 

Art  thou  some  individual  of  a  kind 

Long-lived  by  nature,  as  the  rock  or  hind? 

Heap  treasure,  then ;  for  if  thy  need  be  such, 

Thou  hast  excuse,  and  scarce  canst  heap  too  much. 

But  man  thou  seem'st ;  clear  therefore  from  thy  breast 

This  lust  of  treasure — folly  at  the  best ! 

For  why  shouldst  thou  go  wasted  to  the  tomb. 

To  fatten  with  thy  spoils  thou  know'st  not  whom  ? 

FROM  MENANDER. 

Fond  youth !  who  dream'st  that  hoarded  gold 

Is  needful,  not  alone  to  pay 
For  all  thy  various  items  sold. 

To  serve  the  wants  of  every  day ; 

Bread,  vinegar,  and  oil,  and  meat. 
For  savory  viands  season'd  high ; 

But  somewhat  more  iuiportant  yet — 
I  tell  thee  what  it  cannot  bu}^ 

No  treasure,  hadst  thou  more  amass'd 

Than  fame  to  Tantalus  assigned. 
Would  save  thee  from  a  tomb  at  last ; 

But  thou  must  leave  it  all  behind. 

I  give  thee,  therefore,  counsel  wise; 

Confide  not  vainly  in  thy  store, 
However  large — much  less  despise 

Others  comparatively  poor; 


682  cowper's  poetical  works. 

But  in  tliy  more  exalted  state 
A  just  and  equal  temper  show, 

That  all  wlio  see  thee  rich  and  great. 
My  deem  thee  worthy  to  be  so. 

ON  NIOBE. 

CnARox!  receive  a  family  on  board, 
Itself  sufficient  for  thy  crazy  yawl : 

Apollo  and  Diana,  for  a  word 

By  me  too  proudly  spoken,  slew  us  all. 

ON  FEMALE  INCONSTANCY. 

EiCR,  thou  hadst  many  lovers — poor,  hast  none, 
So  surely  want  extinguishes  the  flame ; 

And  she  who  call'd  thee  once  her  pretty  one, 
And  her  Adonis,  now  inquires  thy  name. 

Where  wast  thou  born,  Sosicrates,  and  where, 
In  what  strange  country  can  thy  parents  live. 

Who  seem'st,  by  thy  complaints,  not  yet  aware 
That  want's  a  crime  no  woman  can  fori^ive  ? 


ON  THE  GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy  songster,  perch'd  above, 
On  the  summit  of  the  grove, 
"Whom  a  dewdrop  cheers  to  sing 
With  the  freedom  of  a  king! 
From  thy  perch  survey  the  fields 
Where  prolific  ISTature  yields 
Naught  that,  wilhngly  as  slie, 
Man  surrenders  not  to  thee. 
For  hostility  or  hate 
None  thy  pleasures  can  create. 
Thee  it  satisfies  to  sing 
Sweetly  the  return  of  spring, 
Herald  of  the  genial  hours, 
Harming  neither  herbs  nor  flowers. 
Therefore  man  thy  voice  attends 
Gladly — thou  and  he  are  friends ; 
Kor  tliy  never-ceasing  strains, 
Phojbus  or  the  Muse  disdains 


TRANSLATIONS    FROM    THE    GREEK..  683 

As  too  simple  or  too  long, 
For  themselves  inspire  the  song. 
Earth-born,  bloodless,  undecaying, 
Ever  singing,  sporting,  playing, 
What  has  Nature  else  to  sliow 
Godlike  in  its  kind  as  thou? 

0^  PALLAS  BATHING. 

FROM    A    HYMN    OF    CALLIMACIIUS. 

Nor  oils  of  balmy  scent  produce 
Nor  mirror  for  Minerva's  use, 
Ye  Nymphs  who  lave  her ;  she,  array'd 
In  genuine  beauty,  scorns  their  aid. 
Not  even  when  they  left  the  skies, 
To  seek  on  Ida's  head  the  prize 
From  Paris'  hand,  did  Juno  deign, 
Or  Pallas  in  the  crystal  plain  • 
Of  Simois'  stream  her  locks  to  trace, 
Or  in  the  mirror's  polish'd  face ; 
Though  Venus  oft  with  anxious  care 
Adjusted  twice  a  single  hair. 

TO  DEMOSTHENES. 
It  flattens  and  deceives  thy  view, 

This  mirror  of  ill-polish'd  ore; 
For,  were  it  just,  and  told  thee  true, 

Thou  wouldst  consult  it  never  more. 

ON  A  SIMILAR  CHARACTER. 

You  give  your  cheeks  a  rosy  stain, 

With  washes  dye  your  hair ; 
But  paint  and  washes  both  are  vain 

To  give  a  youthful  air. 

Those  wrinkles  mock  your  daily  toil, 

No  labor  will  etface  'em ; 
You  wear  a  mask  of  smoothest  oil, 

Yet  still  with  ease  we  trace  'em. 

An  art  so  fruitless  then  forsake. 

Which  though  you  nuich  excel  in 
You  never  can  contrive  to  make 

Old  Hecuba  young  Helen. 


684  .        cowper's  poetical  works. 


ON  AN  UGLY  FELLOW. 

Beware,  my  friend !  of  crystal  brook, 
Or  fountain,  lest  that  hideous  hook, 

Thy  nose,  thou  cliance  to  see ; 
Narcissus'  fate  would  then  be  thine, 
And  self- detested  thou  wouldst  pine, 

As  self-enamor'd  he. 


ON  A  THIEF. 

"When  Aulus,  the  nocturnal  thief,  made  prize 
Of  Hermes,  swift-wing'd  envoy  of  tlie  skies, 
Hermes,  Arcadia's  king,  the  thief  divine, 
"Who  when  an  infant  stole  Apollo's  kine, 
And  whom,  as  arbiter  and  overseer 
Of  our  gymnastic  sports,  we  planted  here  ; 
^'Hermes,"  he  cried,  ''you  meet  no  new  disaster: 
Ofttimcs  the  pupil  goes  beyond  his  master." 

ON  ENVY. 

Pity,  says  the  Theban  bard, 
From  my  wishes  I  discard ; 
Envy,  let  me  rather  be. 
Rather  far,  a  theme  for  thee ! 
Pity  to  distress  is  shown 
Envy  to  the  great  alone. 
So  the  Theban — But  to  shine 
Less  conspicuous  be  mine ! 
I  prefer  the  golden  mean, 
Pomp  and  penury  between ; 
For  alarm  and  peril  wait 
Ever  on  the  loftiest  state ; 
And  the  lowest  to  the  end 
Obloquy  and  scorn  attend. 

ON  A  BATTERED  BEAUTY. 

Hair,  w^ax,  rouge,  honey,  teeth  you  buy, 

A  multifarious  store ! 
A  mask  at  once  would  all  supply, 

Nor  would  it  cost  you  more. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  GREEK.  '       685 


BY  MOSCHUS. 

I  SLEPT  when  Venus  enterVl :  to  my  bed 
A  Cupid  in  her  beauteous  liand  she  led, 
A  bashful  seeming  boy,  and  thus  she  said : 

*' Shepherd,  receive  my  little  one!  .  I  bring 
An  untaught  Love,  whom  thou  must  teach  to  sing." 
She  said,  and  left  him.     I  suspecting  nauglit. 
Many  a  sweet  strain  my  subtle  pupil  taught — 
IJow  reed  to  reed  Pan  first  with  osier  bound, 
Ilow  Pallas  form'd  the  pipe  of  softest  sound. 
How  Hermes  gave  the  lute,  and  how  the  quire 
Of  Phoebus  owe  to  Phoebus'  self  the  lyre. 
Such  were  my  themes ;  my  themes  naught  heeded  he, 
But  ditties  sang  of  amorous  sort  to  me — 
TJie  pangs  that  mortals  and  immortals  prove 
From  Venus'  influence  and  the  darts  of  love. 
Thus  was  the  teacher  by  the  pupil  taught; 
His  lessons  I  retained,  he  mine  forgot. 

BY  PHILEMON. 

Oft  we  enhance  our  ills  by  discontent. 
And  give  tliem  bulk  beyond  wliat  Nature  meant. 
A  parent,  brother,  friend  deceased,  to  cry — 
''  He's  dead  indeed,  but  he  was  born  to  die" — 
Such  temperate  grief  is  suited  to  the  size 
And  burden  of  the  loss;  is  just  and  wise. 
But  to  exclaim,  "  Ah !  wherefore  was  I  born. 
Thus  to  be  left  forever  thus  forlorn  ?" 
Who  thus  laments  his  loss  invites  distress, 
And  magnifies  a  woe  that  might  be  less. 
Through  dull  despondence  to  his  lot  resigned, 
And  leaving  reason's  remedy  behind. 

ON  PEDIGREE.— FROM  EPICHARMUS. 

My  mother !  if  thou  love  me,  name  no  more 
My  noble  birth  !     Sounding  at  every  breath 
My  noble  birth,  thou  kill'st  me.     Thither  fly, 
As  to  their  only  refuge,  all  from  whom  . 
Nature  withholds  all  good  besides;  they  boast 
Their  noble  birth,  conduct  us  to  the  tombs 
58 


OSG  COWPKU'S    rOETTCAL    WORKS. 

Of  their  forofathcrs,  find,  from  ngo  to  ago 

Ascoiuliiii;',  tniinpL't  thoir  illustrious  race: 

]iut  AvluMii  Juist  thou  behold,  or  eanst  thou  name, 

I)eri\'cd  from  no  forefathers?     Such  a  man 

Lives  not;  for  liow  could  such  be  born  at, all? 

And,  if  it  chance  that,  native  of  a  land 

Far  distant,  or  in  infancy  dei)rive(l 

Of  all  liis  kindred,  one  who  cannot  trace 

Jlis  origin  exist,  why  deem  him  sprung 

From  baser  ancestry  than  theirs  who  can? 

My  mother!  he  whom  Nature  at  his  birth 

Fndow'd  with  virtuous  qualities,  although 

Au  ^Ethiop  and  u  slave,  is  nobly  born. 

ON  HEKMOCRATIA. 

ITermocratia  named — save  oidy  one — 
Twice  lifteen  births  1  boi*e,  and  buried  none; 
For  neither  Phd^bus  ])ierced  my  thriving  joys, 
Nor  Dian — she  my  girls,  or  he  my  boys. 
But  Dian  rather,  when  my  daughters  lay 
In  ])arturition,  chased  their  ])angs  away. 
And  all  my  sons,  by  Ph(rl)us'  bounty,  shared 
A  vigorous  youtli,  by  sickness  unimpair'd. 
O  Niobel  far  less  ])rolitic!  see 
Thy  boast  against  Latona  shamed  by  me  I 


EPIGRAMS  TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  LATIN 
OF  OWEN. 


ON  ONE  IGNORANT  AND  ARKOQANT. 

TrroiT  mayst  of  di)uble  ignorance  boast, 
"Who  know'st  not  that  tliou  nothing  know'st. 

PRUDENT  SIMPLICITY. 

That  thou  mayst  injure  no  man,  dove-like  be, 
And  serpent-like,  that  none  may  injure  thee  I 


TRANSLATIONS    FHOM    OWEN. 


C87 


SUNSET  AND  SUNRISE. 

CONTEMI'LATE,  "NvllCIl  tllC  SlUl  (IcclinCS, 

Tljy  (leutl),  with  deep  retleotioii ! 
And  wlieii  n^uiri  lie  rising  Kliines^ 
The  day  of  resurrection ! 

TO  A  FRIEND  IN  DISTRESS. 

I  WISH  tijy  lot,  now  had,  still  worse,  iny  friend ; 
For  when  at  worst,  tliey  say,  things  always  mend. 

RETALIATION. 

The  works  of  ancient  bards  divine, 

Anlns,  thou  scorn'st  to  read  ; 
And  should  ])osterity  read  tliine, 

It  would  h(;  str.'inge  indeed! 

When'  little  jnoru  than  boy  in  age, 
I  deeui'd  myself  almost  a  sage: 
]5ut  now  seem  worthier  to  be  styled, 
For  ignorance,  almost  a  child. 


'^\ 


[IJKI7BRSIT 


THE  END. 


^y- 


/^ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

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